


Blood Ties 10: A Dish Served Cold

by Dawn (sunrize83)



Series: Blood Ties [10]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 19:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrize83/pseuds/Dawn





	Blood Ties 10: A Dish Served Cold

X-Files Office  
Tuesday  
10:36 a.m.

 

If the final projectile hit its target, he'd have created the spitting   
image of A. D. Kersh's profile--the weak chin, the perpetually   
disapproving twist to the lips. Mulder leaned back a little further   
until the balls of his feet just brushed the floor, his chair emitting a   
low groan that could be interpreted as either protest or warning.   
Squinting a little against the fluorescent glare, he took careful aim   
and...

"Agent Mulder, what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

All the breath left his lungs in a whoosh as he tipped too far   
backward, feet leaving the floor and pencil going wild. It skittered   
and rolled across the linoleum while Mulder lunged upright,   
pinwheeling his arms in an effort to keep from landing in an   
undignified tangle.

Skinner stood just inside the doorway to the office, the scowl   
contorting his features clear evidence that he remained   
unimpressed by Mulder's acrobatics.

"Sorry, Sir. I...uh...didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously."

Skinner thrust his hands into his pockets and walked over to lean   
against Scully's desk. Mulder bent to snag the errant pencil and   
straightened, twirling it between his fingers and cocking an   
impudent eyebrow.

"So, what brings you down to No Man's Land?"

Skinner glanced at the empty chair behind him before pinning   
Mulder with a stern glare. "Scully's at Quantico?"

"Was, is, and will be, from the way I hear it." Mulder leaned   
forward to brace his arms on the cluttered desktop. "They haven't   
even finished shipping in all the remains and gathering dental   
records. She tells me the actual process of identification could take   
anywhere from two weeks to a month."

Skinner nodded curtly, eyes cutting away to several tabloid   
clippings on the wall, his jaw clenched. Mulder waited him out,   
tapping the eraser end of the pencil idly on the blotter.

"SAC Larraby was grateful to get Scully on this one," his boss   
mused, moving over to take a closer look at a particularly lurid   
photo. "That bomb took out at least a hundred people, and their   
families are all awaiting the closure that only a positive ID can   
provide." He abruptly seemed to comprehend the significance of   
his words, eyes returning to Mulder's face.

Mulder inclined his head. "Scully was more than happy to help."   
He smirked. "She figures that with no active cases pending I'll be   
forced to catch up on paperwork."

Skinner looked pointedly at the fresh crop of pencils hanging from   
the ceiling tiles. "I seriously doubt Scully's that gullible."

"Is there something in particular I can do for you, Sir?" Mulder   
asked dryly, dropping the pencil to recline with his hands clasped   
behind his neck.

Skinner walked slowly over to sit in Scully's chair. "I need you to   
take some vacation time, Mulder. The sooner the better. If you fill   
out the leave request today, I'll sign it and have Kim drop it off   
with personnel before she goes home."

Mulder's only movement was a narrowing of hazel eyes. "I don't   
think I've done anything in particular that would cause you to   
doubt my mental health--more than usual, anyway. So there must   
be something else going on."

Skinner's brow furrowed but his eyes evaded Mulder's. "Agent   
Mulder, everything does not have to be part of a greater   
conspiracy. I've checked with personnel; you have a backlog of   
vacation time built up. With Scully tied up at Quantico and no   
open cases, it's the perfect time for you to take some of it."

Mulder chewed on his lower lip a moment before replying.   
"Respectfully, sir? That's bullshit." He dropped his arms and sat   
up. "I'm on a first name basis with the personnel department, and   
while I've certainly received my share of threatening phone calls,   
lately I'm in their good graces." He got up and shut the door, then   
resumed his seat. "Level with me. What's really going on?"

Skinner hesitated, the telltale tic in his cheek betraying his tension.   
Finally, he sighed. "Let's just say that the BSU is currently low on   
profilers and SAC Crittendon heard you're between cases."

"I don't see what one has to do with the other. I'm assigned to the   
X-Files, not Violent Crimes. Any exceptions to that rule are on a   
strictly voluntary basis."

Skinner snorted. "You don't really believe that." At Mulder's glare,   
he continued, "Look, right now it's only rumblings--Crittendon   
making a few shrewd remarks about the most efficient way to   
utilize Bureau resources. But I can guarantee he won't be satisfied   
with just talk for long. In case you haven't heard the buzz, there's a   
serial murderer in Chicago with a preference for little girls and a   
talent for confounding both the police and the Bureau. Crittendon's   
getting desperate."

Mulder nodded slowly, eyes distant. "Scully and I have only been   
married for six months, but it's been the happiest six months of my   
life." His gaze sharpened, locking onto Skinner's face. "Maybe I'm   
selfish, but I think we've both earned it. I won't profile, Walt. I   
can't."

Skinner pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're preaching to the   
choir, Mulder. I just wish it were that easy."

"It is that easy. When Crittendon asks you for the loan of your   
favorite agent, you just say no." Mulder's tone was glib, his face   
stone.

An odd, almost whimsical expression crossed Skinner's face, and   
he shook his head. "I think you overestimate my position in the   
chain of command. Crittendon's solve rate is down along with his   
personnel. He'll go to Henderson, who'll go over my head to the   
Director..."

"Who's not exactly one of my biggest fans." Mulder scrubbed one   
hand over his face, then raised both in a gesture of surrender. "All   
right, all right. I'll go quietly. Is a week going to be enough time   
for Crittendon to seek out some other hapless victim?"

One corner of Skinner's mouth twitched. "Rosetti's medical leave is   
up next Monday and Hickman gets back from Detroit the   
following Friday. After that Crittendon is only down one profiler.   
I'd play it safe; make it ten days." 

He refrained from comment when Mulder grimaced, instead   
terminating the conversation by getting to his feet. He hesitated   
when his fingers touched the doorknob. "A suggestion, Mulder."

Mulder laced his arms across his chest. "Just one?"

Skinner ignored the jibe. "Crittendon might not let a little thing   
like personal leave deter him. He has been known to cancel   
vacations at the last moment, not to mention hauling his people   
back to work during the middle of a pre-approved holiday. I'd   
make myself scarce."

"Is that your subtle way of telling me to get lost, sir?" Mulder   
affected wide-eyed innocence.

"A request for leave, on my desk within the next hour, Mulder.   
Then I don't want to see your ass anywhere near this office for the   
next ten days." Skinner flashed him a shark's grin. "There. I've   
never been one for being subtle."

"Like that's news," Mulder muttered under his breath. With a   
martyred sigh he pulled open a drawer and began rummaging for   
the required paperwork.

 

Georgetown  
Tuesday  
6:04 p.m.

Scully slipped her key into the lock and eased the apartment door   
open, momentarily freezing when the aroma of onion and spices   
hit her nostrils. She stepped inside and shut the door, her ears   
taking in the sounds of rattling pans and the love of her life   
muttering. Two thoughts chased themselves through her tired   
brain.

How did I ever stand coming home to an empty apartment all those   
years?

Oh, God. Mulder's cooking.

She detoured to the bedroom to deposit her briefcase and kick off   
her shoes before wandering back into the kitchen. She paused in   
the doorway, somehow managing to be amused, horrified, and   
turned on by the view.

Mulder was barefoot, clad in faded jeans and a white tee shirt. He   
was clutching a cookbook in one hand and a wooden spoon in the   
other, stirring the contents of large metal pot. The kitchen looked   
like the scene of a particularly nasty food fight. A mound of dirty   
dishes, pots and pans teetered precariously in the sink. Spilled   
food, utensils, and empty tin cans littered every available surface.   
Her glass measuring cup was sporting a crack, and her favorite   
dishtowel had evidently been used to wipe up tomato sauce.

Mulder finally looked up to catch her lounging in the doorway.   
"Hey."

"Hey yourself." The glasses perched on his nose and the smudge of   
flour on his cheek went a long way toward making amends for   
turning her kitchen into Hiroshima.

Our kitchen she admonished herself. Married six months and they   
were still no closer to finding a more permanent living   
arrangement.

Note to self: Find a place with two kitchens.

"What's so funny?" Mulder gazed at her through narrowed eyes,   
dropping the spoon into the pot and padding toward her.

"Nothing. I'm just happy to see you." She tried to wipe the smirk   
from her face but it kept sneaking back.

"That is not a 'happy to see you' smile, Scully."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not. A 'happy to see you' smile looks like this." He   
grinned toothily at her and batted his eyelashes. "What I just saw   
on your face was this." Mulder folded his arms, pursed his lips, and   
tucked his chin to his chest in a dead-on imitation of her current   
body language.

"Oh, really?" Scully brushed the flour from his cheek with the pad   
of her thumb, letting her fingers trail along the line of his jaw.   
"And what kind of smile is that?"

He slipped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer. "A   
classic," he murmured, nuzzling the hypersensitive skin just behind   
her right ear. "I like to call it the 'Mulder, I'd kill you if you weren't   
so darn cute' smile." He worked his way down her neck, the   
rumble of his voice conspiring with lips and teeth to make her   
shiver. "Not to be confused with the 'All right, Mulder, you're cute,   
but I'm going to kill you anyway' smile."

"Mm. My personal favorite." Scully threaded her fingers through   
the soft hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, bringing his mouth   
back up to hers, where he obligingly proceeded to kiss her   
senseless.

She was pressed up against the counter, having long since ceased   
worrying about getting tomato sauce on her jacket, when a sharp,   
acrid smell pierced her addled brain.

"Burning," she mumbled--no easy feat with Mulder's teeth fastened   
onto her lower lip.

He gave her a smug little grin and resumed attacking her neck, one   
hand working its way up her thigh until her skirt bunched around   
her waist. "My kisses are known to have that effect."

Scully rolled her eyes but tilted her head so he could reach her   
earlobe. "Not me, Ace. The...ah...the food. It's burning."

Mulder's tongue began doing indecent things to the inside of her   
ear. "The food is... The food!"

He dropped her so fast she nearly landed on the tile. As it was, her   
hand splatted into a puddle of congealed butter as she gripped the   
edge of the counter, legs splayed and skirt still hiked up to the tops   
of her thighs. Mulder frantically shut off the stove and grabbed the   
pot, intending to move it to another burner. Unfortunately, in his   
panicked state he forgot to use a potholder. The pan crashed back   
down, contents splattering onto the stove, counter, ceiling, and   
Mulder--who had popped his abused fingers into his mouth and   
was cursing lustily around them.

Torn between groaning or bursting into giggles, Scully calmly   
walked over and grasped his wrist until the digits left his mouth   
with a slurp. She turned on the cold water and stuck Mulder's hand   
beneath it.

"Don't move."

She fished a pair of oven mitts out of a drawer and finished   
moving the pot, which apparently contained chili, to a safe   
location. A handful of paper towels mopped up the worst of the   
spill as well as the greasy smears of butter from her palm. When   
she finally looked up, Mulder was still standing as she'd left him,   
his expression that of a little boy who just knocked over his glass   
of milk.

"Before you say anything, could you give me an estimate?"

Scully lifted one eyebrow. "An estimate?"

"Of approximately how pissed off you are right now. On a scale of   
one to ten." He chewed on his lip a moment before adding. "One   
being 'mildly annoyed' and ten being 'hide all sharp objects.'"

Scully panned her gaze across the kitchen, then let her eyes slip   
shut. After a deep breath, she opened them, walked over, and shut   
off the water. She located a moderately clean dishtowel and   
handed it to Mulder before tugging gently on his arm. Face   
screwed up in puzzlement, he followed her into the living room,   
the terrycloth wrapped around his hand.

"What's going on?" Scully asked once she'd seated them both on   
the couch.

Mulder blinked. "I thought it was pretty self-evident. The authentic   
'South of the Border' chili got a little out of hand."

Scully pursed her lips. "That much I've gathered on my own. What   
I want to know is, what's bothering you? Did something happen at   
work today?"

Mulder's brow furrowed. "Why would you ask that?"

Scully sighed again and a smile lifted the corners of her mouth.   
"Because I know you, love. The only time you cook is when you're   
either bored out of your mind or looking for a distraction. Does   
this have anything to do with me being stuck at Quantico?"

Mulder appeared ready to protest, then dropped his head onto the   
back of the couch. "Skinner came to see me today."

"Okay."

He tipped his face to the side so he could see her. "It seems certain   
parties are concerned that a valuable Bureau resource is   
languishing in the basement while his partner is putting together   
human jigsaw puzzles."

Scully's eyes narrowed. "Certain parties?"

"Charlie Crittendon."

"Crittendon?" Scully's confusion melted into understanding. "He's   
a SAC over in the BSU. Works under Henderson." She grimaced.   
"They want you to profile."

Mulder tapped his index finger to his nose.

"Skinner knows what profiling does to you! Why would he...?"

"He wouldn't. But he also probably won't have any choice. Which   
is why he suggested I might like to take a little time off. Maybe   
even get out of town for a while." Mulder's face looked as   
mournful as if Skinner had suggested eating ground glass.

Scully nodded, studying his face. "How soon?"

Mulder gestured toward the kitchen, smirking. "My first afternoon   
off. I feel more relaxed already."

Scully leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips, then rested her   
forehead against his. "I love you, Mulder. But I will not be   
responsible for my actions if you spend the next week and a half   
hanging around this apartment all day." She straightened and   
picked up the phone from the end table.

Mulder raised both eyebrows. "Scully, are you getting me a   
babysitter?" He waggled them. "Can I participate in the selection   
process?"

Scully gave him "The Look" and placed the phone into his hand.   
"Call your brother."

Mulder stuck out his lip. "He's not exactly what I had in mind,   
babe."

"Grey has been trying to get you to go up to that cabin for months,   
and you keep putting him off. Now seems like the perfect time to   
me." She unsuccessfully tried to squelch a grin. "And I won't have   
to be afraid to walk in that door every night."

Mulder made a face. "Very funny." He looked at the phone, then   
turned puppy dog eyes to her face. "Sculleee. It's in the   
mountains."

"I know. Should be beautiful this time of year."

"There's trees, Scully. Forest. You know what my track record is   
with forests?"

Scully smiled, her reply syrupy. "The first time you declared your   
true feelings for me was in the forest, Mulder."

"I was high!" Mulder's expression was incredulous. "And in case   
you've forgotten, it was because I'd been attacked by an enormous,   
bloodthirsty wolf...thing."

Scully stood, hands propped on her hips. "You keep doing that"--  
she hooked her thumb over her shoulder--"to my kitchen, and that   
experience will seem like a walk in the park. Call your brother."

Mulder started to snicker but a good look at Scully's face changed   
his mind. He hit number two on the speed dial and made a pitiful   
attempt to look enthused. "I hear the fall colors are beautiful this   
time of year."

 

Eagle Rock, NC  
Wednesday  
6:23 p.m.

 

Mulder pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, staring at   
the small, two-story house. Remembering the first time...

"Fox."

"Fox Mulder. Nothing like a little impromptu family reunion to   
spice up your day, huh?"

"Good thing I wore clean underwear."

Mulder's lips curved. Back then he'd never dreamed Grey would   
become such an integral part of his life. He'd erased a void, filled a   
hole that even Scully had been unable to touch. Who'd have   
thought that Fox Mulder--Spooky, lone wolf, that crackpot in the   
basement--would come so far?

Scully.

Grey.

Family.

The front door opened and Grey leaned against the jamb, cocking   
an eyebrow. Mulder slid out from behind the wheel, tugging his   
duffel bag from the passenger seat. With the setting sun the heat of   
the day had faded, leaving a faint bite to the air that warned   
summer was over.

"Either you were just doing some mighty deep thinking or my   
garage door is a lot more interesting than I ever realized." Grey's   
soft drawl floated through the impending darkness as Mulder   
strode up the concrete sidewalk.

Mulder lifted one shoulder. "Just indulging in a little nostalgia." He   
offered Grey a lopsided grin. "Good to see you, Bubba."

Grey tugged him into a brief hug before ushering him into   
welcoming warmth and the soft glow of lights. "Good to see you   
too. Did you run into traffic? I expected you an hour ago."

Mulder let his brother take charge of the duffel and slipped off his   
leather jacket. "Scully was going to leave a little early so she could   
see me off, but she wound up getting stuck at Quantico. I dropped   
in to say good-bye before I hit the road. Guess I should've called."

"Nah." Grey opened the coat closet and handed him a hanger, then   
led the way down the hall toward the kitchen. "Not a problem. I   
kept dinner warm."

"Great, because I'm starving. Lunch was just a roast beef sandwich   
six hours ago and..." Mulder sniffed the air. "What is it? Smells   
like..."

"Chili." Grey crossed to a pot on the stove and gave it a vigorous   
stir. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, freezing at the   
bemused expression on Mulder's face. "Fox? Hey, if you don't like   
chili just say so, I'm sure I can dig up something else."

Mulder just snickered a little and shook his head. "No, no. Chili is   
fine--great, in fact. I, uh, have had a craving for it."

Grey studied his face with narrowed eyes before breaking into a   
smirk. "Oh. Now I get it. This is one of those newlywed stories   
you're not gonna share, isn't it?"

Mulder snorted and went to the cupboard to collect two bowls.   
"More like a "Mulder makes an ass of himself" story. But you were   
half right--I'm not going to share."

"You know, little brother, sometimes reality is far less painful than   
what a person's imagination can conjure up. Especially a vivid one   
like mine." Grey ladled chili into a bowl and traded it for an empty   
one.

"I'll take that chance."

Once they'd seated themselves at the table with their chili,   
cornbread, and tall glasses of ice water, Mulder gazed critically at   
his brother.

"You look tired. Has everything been going okay?"

Grey toyed with his spoon as if he'd suddenly lost his appetite.   
"Yeah. Well, as okay as can be expected, I guess. It's been a rough   
few weeks."

Mulder broke off a chunk of cornbread and popped it into his   
mouth, waiting for Grey to continue. When it became obvious that   
his brother wasn't going to elaborate, a little line appeared between   
his eyes. "Kristen?"

Grey eyes darted to his face before his gaze softened and a smile   
touched the corners of his mouth. "No. That part of my life   
couldn't be better. It's work that's been making me crazy."

He sighed heavily. "We had a real nutcase on our hands, a guy   
with a taste for college girls. Crazy, but smart. Raped and assaulted   
four women before Preston and I managed to collar him. Caught   
him in the act with victim number five." He abruptly released the   
spoon so that it landed in the bowl with a sharp plink.   
"Unfortunately, he panicked, and victim number five bled to death   
before the ambulance got there."

Mulder winced. "I'm sorry."

Grey leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Guess   
you've been there, huh?"

"Once or twice."

Grey's eyes roamed his face as if searching for something. "I don't   
know how you survived, Fox."

Mulder's lips twisted. "With headaches, insomnia, nightmares, and   
popping antacid tablets like they were candy." He shook his head,   
his gaze turning distant. "When things were at their worst, when   
they'd decided I was the divine oracle of the BSU, I lost track of   
everything but the cases. I wouldn't even remember what state I   
was in, but I could describe each crime scene in explicit detail. I   
wasn't human to them anymore, just a machine. But I got results."

Grey's jaw tightened, his eyes flat and cold. "That son of a bitch,   
Patterson. He used you."

Mulder lifted one shoulder. "You can't use someone unless they   
allow it. I'm the one who kept going long after I should have called   
it quits."

"I hate it when you do that!" Grey snapped, stabbing his spoon at   
Mulder's chest. "I've never seen anyone more eager to accept   
blame than you. They manipulated you, Fox. They knew you saw   
our sister in the eyes of every victim and they didn't hesitate to   
capitalize on that weakness. Don't make excuses for them, damn   
it!"

Mulder looked down at his chili but a grin tugged at his lips.   
"Okay. I won't." He looked up at Grey, wide-eyed. "You know, I   
always forget how scary you are when you get angry."

Grey stared at him for a moment, then snorted before biting into   
his cornbread. "And I always forget what a smart ass you are.   
Guess we're even."

They passed the rest of the meal wrangling over whether the   
Yankees had a shot at winning the World Series and debating the   
Gunmen's latest conspiracy theory. They'd deposited the dirty   
dishes in the sink, and Mulder had grabbed a towel to dry, when   
the phone rang. Grey blotted soapy hands on a corner of the towel   
and scooped up the phone, cradling it between cheek and shoulder   
while he resumed washing.

"Hello?" His face softened. "Well, hey, darlin'. I was going to call   
you. We're just cleaning up the dinner dishes." He listened for a   
moment, then glanced at his brother. "Kristen says hello."

"Hello back." Mulder picked up a glass and mimed a toast before   
beginning to dry it.

"Yeah, we head out bright and early." Another sidelong glance.   
"Fox is real excited, I can tell." A pause. "Oh, no, no. Dana's got it   
all wrong. Fox is a real nature-lover, believe me. A trip to the   
woods with him is always an unforgettable experience."

Mulder showed Grey his teeth and an upraised middle finger,   
which his brother seemed to find highly amusing. He continued to   
dry dishes, hunting through cupboards to put them away and only   
half-listening to the one-sided conversation. Grey dried his hands   
and wandered over to gaze out the patio door at the darkened back   
yard, his voice low.

"...day after tomorrow. We'll be taking some food up with us, but   
we'll drive down into town for the perishable stuff. I'll give you a   
buzz then." Grey listened for a moment, then chuckled, a warm,   
contented sound. "I promise. I will, I will." A barely noticeable   
hesitation, then, "Me too, Tippi. Good night."

He turned to replace the phone, but a smirk and Mulder's raised   
eyebrows arrested the motion. "What?"

"Tippi?"

To Mulder's intense amusement, his normally unflappable brother   
blushed. "It's a nickname, okay? You always eavesdrop on other   
people's phone conversations?"

"Who needed to eavesdrop? You never left the room." Mulder   
waggled his eyebrows. "Care to share the origin of this nickname?"

"No, I wouldn't." Grey hung up the phone and busied himself   
putting away the orphaned dishes his brother had been unable to   
find homes for.

Mulder folded his arms and leaned back against the counter,   
watching Grey's rather jerky movements. "It's an unusual name to   
call someone," he observed.

Grey slid a pot into a lower cupboard and shot him an annoyed   
glare. "Oh really, Fox?"

"You don't have to get so defensive." He kept his voice mild and   
slightly wounded. "I think it's great you have a pet name for   
Kristen." Grey said nothing, just watched him warily. Mulder   
ruthlessly squashed the grin that tried to bulldoze its way onto his   
face. "Makes me wonder though."

"What?" Grey grated through clenched teeth.

"Well, she must have a name for you too, right? Something like   
'Snookums,' maybe? Or 'Sugar Lips'?"

Grey narrowed his eyes and he jerked his thumb at the phone.   
"Why don't you just shut up and call your wife? I'm going to bring   
the sleeping bags up from the basement."

Mulder wisely restrained himself and did as he was told. The   
phone rang three times before a click, a pause, and then Scully's   
warm alto filled the line.

"It's about time you called, Ted. Mulder's been gone for hours--  
what took you so long?"

He hung there, slack-jawed, for several seconds before his ears   
detected the soft chuffing of her laughter. "Very funny. What if it   
had been Skinner, huh? Or SAC Larraby. Did you think about   
that?"

"Skinner almost always calls me on my cell, and Larraby shooed   
me out the door and told me to forget all about work for at least   
eight hours." Her voice was rich with a mixture of amusement and   
affection. "Admit it, love. I had you for just a minute there. Big   
time."

"You had nothing, I was onto you." A faint splash echoed through   
the receiver. "Scully, where are you?"

"I'll give you a hint--I pieced bodies together for ten hours straight   
today. My back aches, my feet are killing me, and I smell   
like...well, you can imagine what I smell like. Where do you think   
I am?"

Mulder closed his eyes with a sigh. "Candles?"

"Yep."

A soft whimper. "Bubbles?"

"Of course."

He groaned and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. "Sculleee!   
Why am I hundreds of miles away while you're soaking in that tub   
all alone with no one to wash your back?"

"I was asking myself that very question right before you called."   
Scully chuckled softly. "It's only a week, Mulder. I'll keep the   
water warm." Her voice turned serious. "You both need this.   
You've never really had a chance to spend some time together   
without interruptions. Make the most of it."

Mulder's lips curved. "I will." He sighed. "I just wish we could've   
held this little bonding session somewhere else--like the beach."

"Oh, stop whining!" Grey appeared in the basement doorway, a   
bedroll tucked under each arm and a smudge of dirt on one cheek.   
"We're gonna have a great time. Plenty of fresh air, long hikes   
through the woods, meals cooked out over an open fire..."

Scully evidently overheard, because she broke into giggles. "See,   
Mulder? You're in good hands."

"You think so? I have a better idea. I'll come back and play   
connect the dots with Larraby and you go camping with Davy   
Crockett." Mulder eyed Grey, who dropped the sleeping bags with   
a smirk and tromped back down the steps.

Scully's laughter tapered off, and even through the phone line   
Mulder could feel the shift in her mood. "Mulder..."

"I won't do anything stupid."

A puff of air and he imagined the eyebrow shooting skyward.   
"Precognition, Mulder?"

"Just love, babe." He waited a beat. "I miss you already."

Her voice was chocolate, dark and sweet. "Me too. And I'd be very   
disappointed if you came home in anything less than tip-top   
condition."

Mulder grinned. "I'll bear that in mind."

"No bears, Mulder. No snakes. No time-traveling wolf creatures.   
No mothmen. And while I'm at it, no falls, no getting lost, and   
definitely no broken bones. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And have fun."

"Now you're really asking too much." Mulder's voice was dry, but   
his lips twitched. "Grey says we'll be heading to a nearby town for   
supplies the day after tomorrow. I'll call you then."

"Call my cell--I'll be sure to leave it on." Her voice dropped.   
"Good night, Mulder."

"Good night, Scully. Sweet dreams." He was about to push the   
button to disconnect when an odd feeling swept over him, like a   
gust of cold air. He jerked the receiver back to his ear. "Scully,   
wait!"

A loud splash, muttered curses, and she was back. "Mulder, what's   
wrong? You surprised me so much I knocked a candle into the   
tub!"

Mulder bit his lip. The chill had faded, leaving him feeling very   
foolish. "I just...nothing. Sorry I startled you."

The edge left her tone, her voice turning smooth and a little   
contrite. "It's all right. What did you want?"

He shook his head, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't see   
him. "Nothing, really. I just...I love you, Scully."

He felt the warmth of her smile. "I love you, too. Are you sure   
you're all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

He broke the connection and stared out the glass door. Watching   
splashes of moonlight shift and change as a gentle breeze stirred   
tree branches. Listening to muffled scrapes and thuds that drifted   
up the steps as Grey shifted boxes.

Shivering at the faint but lingering chill at the nape of his neck.

 

Great Smoky Mountains  
Friday  
12:36 p.m.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on just a minute! Dana did what?" Grey   
somehow managed to keep one eye on the twisting dirt road while   
darting incredulous looks at his brother.

"You heard me. She ate a cricket. At least, it looked like she ate it."   
Mulder's mouth turned up and his eyes went soft, an expression   
Grey called his "Dana Face." "I've always suspected she really   
palmed it, but she won't admit anything."

Grey slowly shook his head. "Only you would be investigating   
murders committed by a sideshow freak's evil midget twin. You   
know, getting someone like Dana for your partner was really a   
one-in-a-million longshot, Fox. You're just plain lucky."

Mulder turned to gaze out the window, his eyes barely registering   
the sporadic splashes of orange, red, and gold among the still lush   
foliage. "You won't get any argument from me." He snickered. "I   
just wish I could have seen that cigarette-smoking bastard's face   
when he first realized that instead of putting a gun to my head, he'd   
only managed to shoot himself in the foot."

"Not one of his better days, I'm sure." Grey stole a quick peek at   
his brother before anchoring his eyes on the road. "'Course I   
wouldn't be feeling too smug. It still took you six years to admit   
Spender gave you a helluva lot more than just a great partner. If I   
hadn't come along, you'd probably still be in denial."

Mulder's head whipped around and his eyebrows skyrocketed.   
"Excuse me? Are you actually trying to tell me you're responsible   
for Scully and I beginning a romantic relationship?"

Grey inclined his head, expression smug. "My mamma always told   
me to accept credit where credit was due."

"You're delusional! I told Scully how I really felt about her. Okay,   
so I happened to be drugged at the time--the words still came out   
of my mouth. I certainly don't see where you come into the   
picture."

Grey shook his head, snicking his tongue against his teeth. "How   
quickly they forget. Tell me, Fox. Who was responsible for getting   
you two involved with that case in the first place?"

"You were. So what?"

"So you never would have been bitten by that creature if not for   
me--right?"

"Right."

"And because you were bitten, whatever drug was in that creature's   
saliva lowered your inhibitions--right?"

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "So?"

"So you said things to Dana, poured your heart out to her and   
confessed your true feelings, because you were too high to know   
any better. Which encouraged Dana to come clean about her own   
feelings." Grey waved the hand not gripping the steering wheel.   
"And the rest, little brother, is history."

Mulder laced his arms across his chest and scowled at Grey. "Your   
whole case is built on the premise that I would never have told   
Scully I loved her without the use of narcotics. You can't possibly   
prove such an allegation."

Grey snorted indelicately. "You are so full of it! How many times   
did I not-so-subtly suggest it was time you took the plunge? 'It's   
complicated, Grey.' 'She deserves better than what I can give her.'   
'I don't want to risk our partnership.'" Grey mimicked his brother's   
voice with eerie accuracy. "Face it, Fox. If not for the werewolf   
from hell--and by extension, me--you and Dana would still be   
dancing the same old dance. Solo."

Mulder opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, jerking his head to   
the right so that he could glare at the passing trees and not his   
brother's face. Grey, of course, wouldn't let it go.

"Don't thank me. I was glad to help."

Caught between laughter and irritation, Mulder settled for a   
mixture of both. "You know, you're hardly the one to be lecturing   
me about relationships," he pointed out. "People who live in glass   
houses should stick to basketball or a good game of darts."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mulder turned, bracing his back against the passenger door so that   
he could see Grey's face and stretch his legs. "It means we all carry   
the ghosts of past relationships with us, Bubba. But then, I don't   
have to tell you that, do I?"

Grey's eyes darted to his face and the car swerved a bit, hitting a   
large pothole with a bone-jarring thump. Swearing under his   
breath, he navigated back to a smoother section of road. When he   
finally spoke, his voice was very soft.

"I've been up front with Kristen from the very beginning. You   
know that."

Mulder tipped his head back against the window, wishing he could   
take back his own words. "Yeah."

The gentle tone of his voice seemed to make Grey more defensive.   
"I do love her."

Mulder couldn't help himself. Grey had always been honest, even   
if it hurt. He deserved no less. "But you haven't been able to tell   
her."

Grey's lips thinned. "Not in so many words."

"How many do you think you need? Last time I checked, it only   
took three." When Grey only hunched further over the steering   
wheel, Mulder reached over to lay one hand on a rigid shoulder.   
"I'm sorry. This really isn't any of my business. Like you said, I'm   
hardly an expert on relationships."

"It's okay." Grey sighed. "When I vowed to love and honor Kate   
till death parted us, I never pictured it happening so soon. She was   
everything I'd ever wanted or needed out of life. I always figured   
I'd be the one to go first, or at the very least, I'd be an old man with   
one foot in the grave."

"I know you must realize that loving Kristen isn't betraying Kate's   
memory."

Grey chuckled, but the sound was flat and without humor. "Here,"   
he said, tapping his index finger against his temple. "But here..."   
He laid the same hand over his heart and slowly shook his head. "I   
can tell Kristen she's beautiful. I can tell her that she's important to   
me, and I want to be with her. I can even tell her she makes me   
happier than I've been in a long time. But when I try to speak those   
three little words they get all tangled up somewhere between my   
heart and my mouth." He cast a sideways glance at Mulder.   
"Pathetic, huh?"

"You're asking the guy who needed drugs to pull off the same   
feat," Mulder reminded him, pleased when Grey's laughter turned   
warm and genuine. He removed his hand from his brother's   
shoulder but left his arm across the back of the seat. "Look, I know   
Scully loves me--she married me, and even for a slightly lapsed   
Catholic that's a heavy commitment. My brain knows she's in this   
relationship for the long haul, that she plans to keep filing my   
Alien Abduction magazines alongside her medical journals..." His   
voice trailed off and he stared out the windshield.

"But?" Grey prodded.

"When I wake up in the middle of the night, and the other side of   
the bed is empty and cold, for just a minute..." A long pause. "For   
just a minute, I think maybe she's had enough. That she's finally   
realized what everyone eventually figures out--that Fox Mulder   
requires a hell of an emotional investment with dubious returns.   
And then the water runs in the bathroom, or the teapot whistles in   
the kitchen, or I see the glow of the reading lamp in the living   
room. And all of a sudden I can breathe again."

Grey's eyebrows knitted together. "I don't know why it's so hard   
for you to get it through your thick skull that Dana and I aren't   
going anywhere, Fox. You have to start accepting the fact that you   
deserve happiness."

Mulder didn't reply, simply turned his head with an exaggerated   
motion toward his brother and raised an eyebrow.

Grey glared at him. "That was dirty pool."

Mulder shrugged. "Maybe. Like I said, we've all got our ghosts.   
You've weathered a few bumps in the road with Kristen; I'm sure if   
you just give yourself some time you'll get past this one."

A smile spread slowly across Grey's face. "I'll master those three   
little words and you learn to just roll over and go back to sleep."

Mulder's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "You first."

Grey's retort cut off when he abruptly spun the steering wheel hard   
to the left, nearly pitching Mulder onto the floor. One of the tires   
slipped briefly into the ditch at the side of the road and the SUV   
tipped precariously before righting itself with a spray of gravel.   
Mulder clung to the door handle and glowered at his brother.

"What in the hell are you trying to do, drive us off the mountain?"

"Sorry, I almost missed the turn. This should take us right up to the   
cabin."

Two minutes later Grey pulled the truck up to a small and rather   
rustic cabin nestled in a clearing. Constructed of logs, a long porch   
ran the length of the front and a stone chimney peeked over the   
roof in back. Grey shut off the engine and turned to Mulder with   
the smile of a proud parent.

"There! Isn't it perfect? A little home away from home right smack   
dab in the middle of all this beauty."

Mulder eyed the cabin sourly. "That bears absolutely no   
resemblance to my home." He leaned forward to take a closer look,   
then poked his finger at a small shack about 50 feet from the back   
door. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."

Grey offered him a toothy grin. "Just think of it as another   
opportunity to commune with nature."

Mulder moaned and flung open his door. "I can't believe I let you   
and Scully talk me into this."

"I told you we'd be roughing it." Grey's voice remained patient, if   
amused, as he popped the hatch and tossed Mulder his duffel bag.   
"What did you think I meant?"

Mulder shrugged. "I dunno--no cable?"

"You're impossible. Look, we'll be fine. There's a pump that brings   
water into the kitchen and a generator for the lights. It's even got a   
little refrigerator."

"Sounds like the Hilton." Mulder looked from the cabin to his   
brother, who had ceased unloading his own bag, hands propped on   
hips and brow furrowed. With a sigh he hefted the duffel over his   
shoulder and raised both hands. "All right, all right. I'll try to keep   
an open mind."

Grey's shoulders lost a little of their stiffness as he retrieved his   
own gear and shut the trunk. He slung one arm around his brother's   
neck and they walked companionably to the front door.

"Mark was just up here a couple weeks ago. He assured me that   
everything is in working order and promised we'd have a great   
time. After all, the grizzlies are usually hibernating by now." When   
Mulder jerked to a halt and gaped at him in horror, Grey dissolved   
into laughter.

"I'm kidding, Fox, it was just a joke! There aren't any grizzlies   
around here, and as long as we don't leave food or garbage laying   
around the wildlife won't bother us."

"You're a real comedian; you ought to take that act on the road,"   
Mulder growled.

"Just making up for thirty-seven lost years, little brother." Grey   
was still snickering to himself as he slipped the key into the lock,   
frowning a little when the door swung open without the click of   
tumblers turning. "That's odd. I know Mark always keeps this   
place locked up."

"So he forgot. Probably distracted by a grizzly." Mulder brushed   
past his brother and dropped his bag, turning slowly to survey the   
interior. 

To the left of the door a huge stone fireplace dominated a spacious   
living area. The plain but comfortable furnishings included a couch   
and an old fashioned wooden rocking chair, and a thick, colorful   
braided rug covered the hardwood floor. To the right of the door   
was a small but functional kitchenette, including a table and two   
chairs.

Grey dumped his duffel next to his brother's, then carried the box   
containing canned goods and other nonperishables into the kitchen   
and began unloading them. "You can have the bed," he called over   
his shoulder when Mulder stuck his head into the small sleeping   
quarters adjacent to the greatroom.

"Nah, I'll be fine on the couch." Mulder ambled by the fireplace,   
examining a painting over the mantle of Canadian geese in flight   
and fingering a ceramic container of matches before joining Grey   
in the kitchen.

Grey handed him several cans and gestured toward a cupboard.   
"You sure? You must be out of practice by now."

Mulder chuffed a little. "It's like riding a bike--you never forget.   
Besides, I'd rather stay close to the fire. You never know when a   
grizzly might decide he's sick of hibernating."

Though his brother's tone was dry, Grey paused to scrutinize his   
face. "Still? I thought maybe now, with Dana..."

Mulder didn't pretend not to understand. Instead he pasted on a   
smile, but his eyes dodged Grey's. "You're asking an awful lot of   
Scully, don't you think? My nightmares are thirty-nine years in the   
making--she's only had six months." When Grey didn't respond he   
chanced a look at his brother's face. Compassion, not pity, softened   
the features. "They're better, Grey. Really. Stop worrying."

Grey regarded him for a moment longer, then one corner of his   
mouth turned up in a lopsided grin and he tossed Mulder a tin of   
coffee. "All right, you can have the fireplace. Least I can do since   
there's no cable."

"You're all heart."

Once they'd emptied the box, Grey set about firing up the   
generator and Mulder brought in several armfuls of wood from the   
pile against the side of the cabin. Grey came through the back   
door, wiping grease from his hands onto an old rag, to find his   
brother glaring at his cell phone.

"I told you that was never gonna work." He walked across the   
room and flicked the switch on a lamp, beaming in satisfaction   
when the bulb glowed obediently. "You may as well use it for a   
paperweight while we're up here. That's about all it's good for."

"It was worth a try," Mulder grumbled. "Just looking for some link   
to the civilized world."

"Miss her already, huh?"

Grey ducked, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the gut, and beckoned   
his brother over to a desk tucked into the corner. He rolled back the   
top, exposing a shortwave radio. "In case of emergency," he said,   
turning a large knob. "You can talk to Dana tomorrow afternoon   
when we drive into town for..." He seemed to lose track of his own   
words, a line appearing between his eyes.

"What?" Mulder's brow furrowed, mimicking his brother's, and he   
leaned in closer to watch Grey fiddle with various buttons and   
knobs.

"It's not working. Something's wrong."

"What?"

"I don't know. Preston taught me the basics of radioing for help,   
not how to repair it if it broke!" Grey's smooth drawl turned sharp   
with annoyance. After several minutes of fruitless attempts to coax   
the radio to life, he smacked the top with the flat of his hand and   
cursed through clenched teeth.

Mulder grinned. "I'm pretty radios can't do that--even when they're   
functioning." When Grey's expression remained cross, he tossed   
his cell phone on top of the radio. "Looks like we've got another   
paperweight. We'll probably never miss it anyway--unless you'd   
devised some method of contacting Tippi that I don't know about."

It did the trick. Grey abandoned his quest to resurrect the radio,   
turning to stab a finger in Mulder's chest. "We're cut off from the   
rest of the world, little brother. I'd watch my mouth if I were you."

Mulder folded his arms. "I'm a trained FBI agent. I'm not worried."

"Oh yeah? Well, you should be."

"Why is that?"

Grey's glare turned into a wolfish grin and he pulled a keyring   
from his jacket pocket, dangling it in front of his brother's face.   
"'Cause I got the key to the padlock on the outhouse."

 

Great Smoky Mountains  
Friday  
3:46 p.m.

 

"You're crazy." Mulder climbed over a fallen tree, the trunk   
slippery with bright green moss. "They're not even in the same   
league."

Grey shifted his pack so that it rested more comfortably on his   
shoulders. "Least we can agree on that."

"Batman had that utility belt with all the crime-fighting gadgets."

"Spidey could walk up the sides of buildings," Grey countered.   
"And he had that whole web thing going for him."

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Like any crook with half a brain isn't   
going to be able to get out of that sticky stuff. And what about   
cars? Even you have to admit the Batmobile was way cool."

Grey shrugged, ducking under a particularly low branch. "It was   
okay."

"Okay? Are you serious? I used to dream about driving a car like   
that when I grew up." Mulder snorted indelicately. "Unfortunately,   
I don't think Ford makes them."

"Not exactly Bureau issue, huh?"

Grey signaled for him to stop. Swiping at his sweaty brow with the   
back of an arm, Mulder watched his brother take a swig from the   
canteen before handing it over. The water was lukewarm and   
slightly musty from the canvas, but the wetness slid easily down   
his parched throat.

"Thanks."

Grey slung the canteen back around his neck, squinting up at the   
pale gold light filtering through the leaves. For at least the tenth   
time that afternoon, he tugged the baseball cap off his head,   
impatiently shoving wavy, sweat-dampened tendrils of dark hair   
out of his eyes before replacing it. Mulder made no attempt to hide   
a smirk

"Just don't say it," Grey warned, poking a finger at his brother's   
chest. "We've already established that I need a haircut. You start   
calling me Shirley again and you're walking home."

Mulder pointedly gazed around them. "I wasn't aware I had a   
choice."

"Not the cabin, little brother. Raleigh."

"Look at this way. It could be worse," Mulder deadpanned. "You   
could have your buddy Walt's problem."

"Gee, thanks, Fox. Somehow that just puts it all in perspective."   
Grey's gaze returned to the sky. "We'd better head back. Way I   
figure it, we're about three or four miles out, and once that sun   
starts to set it'll get dark pretty quickly."

"Fine with me. I'm getting hungry already. By the time we hike   
back, I'll actually be desperate enough to eat that canned stew you   
packed."

Mulder followed Grey as he began to loop back toward the cabin.   
Despite his initial lack of enthusiasm for the camping trip, he'd   
enjoyed the afternoon hike immensely. The hillsides were a   
patchwork quilt of green, red, gold, and orange, some areas   
breathtakingly brilliant. They'd happened upon a small waterfall   
tumbling down a rocky gorge, where a simple drink had turned   
into a water fight that left them both drenched but refreshed.   
They'd observed two deer, a rabbit, half a dozen squirrels, and a   
few unidentified birds with Grey's binoculars. And they'd laughed.   
A lot.

Distracted by his thoughts and a bootlace that had worked loose,   
Mulder nearly toppled over Grey, who had stopped abruptly in the   
middle of the trail. 

"You might want to signal next time you... Grey? Is something   
wrong?"

Grey didn't answer right away, his eyes scrutinizing the foliage as   
he turned in a slow circle. "Thought I heard something."

"Could you be a little more specific? I hear a lot of things--birds,   
the wind, my own feet." Mulder's eyes narrowed. "If this is another   
attempt to spook me with killer wildlife..."

Grey gave a sharp shake of his head, eyes still scanning the brush   
and ears tuned to catch the slightest sound. "Not this time."

Mulder frowned, stepping closer so that his shoulder brushed his   
brother's and unconsciously mimicking Grey's vigilance. "You're   
serious about this."

"I've had the strangest feeling all afternoon. Like we were being   
watched." Grey shook his head again and smiled sheepishly. "It's   
probably nothing. Maybe your paranoia is finally starting to rub off   
on me." He resumed hiking and Mulder fell into step beside him.

"Hey, it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you."

"In your case, I think you have a point."

They reached the cabin without further incident just as the sun   
dipped below the horizon, lengthening shadows shrouding the   
clearing in near darkness. Grey was almost to the cabin door when   
he jerked to a halt with a muttered curse. He stripped off his   
backpack and tossed it onto the porch before stomping over to the   
SUV, which was now sporting an extremely flat tire.

He crouched down, running a hand over the puddle of rubber.   
"Damn. Must've hit something sharp on the way up here."

"Like when you nearly drove us into a ditch." Mulder peered over   
Grey's shoulder, grunting when his brother's elbow dug into his   
ribs. "You've got a spare, don't you?"

"Yeah. I'm not messing with it now, though, I'll run out of light   
before I can even get this jacked up." With a final, black glare at   
the tire, Grey stood and they walked back to the cabin.

"Tell you what--I'll make dinner. You just sit back and take it   
easy." Mulder waved his hand magnanimously in the direction of   
the couch.

"I don't know if I can enjoy myself, thinking of you slaving away   
in the kitchen. If you wind up with a blister from that can opener,   
I'll never forgive myself." Grey dropped onto the cushions and   
kicked off his boots.

Mulder ignored the jibe, divesting himself of both socks and boots   
before padding barefoot into the kitchen. He fished two beers from   
the refrigerator, whistled to grab Grey's attention, and lobbed one   
toward the couch. Grey caught it neatly, tapping the top a few   
times before opening it.

"What do we have to go with the stew?" Mulder opened the nearest   
cupboard and began sorting through cans.

"There's a loaf of bread on the counter."

Further investigation produced a saucepan and can opener. Mulder   
transferred the stew to the pot and turned on the stove, then   
scanned the counter for the bread.

"No, there isn't."

Grey's head emerged from a copy of "Sports Illustrated." "Sure   
there is. I put it right next to the dish soap."

Mulder picked up the bottle of yellow liquid and brandished it.   
"Our hands will smell lemony fresh, but there's no bread in sight,   
Bubba."

Grey heaved a longsuffering sigh, set aside the magazine, and   
trudged over to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath. The line   
between his brows deepened as his eyes swept the counter.

"What the..."

He tugged open first one cupboard, then the other, rummaged   
through all three drawers and thoroughly examined the empty box   
that had contained their supplies.

"This is crazy." Hands on hips, he glared suspiciously at Mulder.   
"Fox, if this is your idea of a joke..."

Mulder held up both hands. "I like to think my sense of humor is a   
little more sophisticated, though Scully might disagree. Are you   
sure you didn't just forget to put it in the box? Maybe it's on the   
counter back home."

"I guess it's possible." Grey's expression remained troubled.   
"Damn. Now we have no bread for sandwiches tomorrow."

Mulder crossed to the stove and stirred the now bubbling pot of   
stew. "So we make do with that box of crackers I saw and buy   
bread when we drive into town tomorrow."

Grey's rigid shoulders relaxed. "Yeah. You're right. I just would've   
sworn..." He shook his head and pulled two bowls from the   
cupboard. "Let's eat."

An hour later, stomachs full and dishes washed, they sprawled in   
front of the fire, Mulder on the couch and Grey on the floor, back   
propped near his brother's legs. Darkness had quickly leached   
away the day's warmth, but the blaze drove away the chill   
sufficiently to keep the cabin comfortable.

"Sam loved it when we'd have a fire in the fireplace." Mulder's   
voice was soft, pensive. He stared into the flickering yellow and   
orange flames with a distant smile on his lips. "When she was   
little, she couldn't understand why we didn't have them in the   
summer. It would be ninety-five degrees outside, and she'd start   
raiding the woodpile, bringing in logs."

"Sounds like a gal who knew her own mind," Grey mused.

Mulder snorted. "Why not call a spade a spade? She was about as   
stubborn and pigheaded as they come. Once she got an idea in her   
head, there was no discouraging her."

"Sounds familiar." Grey's chuckle turned into a guffaw when   
Mulder flashed him an obscene gesture.

After several minutes of silence Grey tipped his head back so that   
he could see his brother's face. "Are you still looking for the people   
who took her?"

Pain flickered across Mulder's face like the flames over the logs. "I   
made a promise to Sam after she was abducted. I vowed I'd never   
quit until I either brought her home safely or caught her   
murderers." His mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. "I've failed   
miserably at both."

"You dedicated your life to finding the truth about what happened   
to Sam," Grey replied. "In the end, that's exactly what you did.   
How is that failure?" When Mulder didn't answer, he turned back   
to the fire. "It's all right to put Samantha to rest now, Fox."

Mulder sighed and let his head drop onto the back of the sofa.   
"There was a time when nothing was more important to me than   
finding the truth and exposing the men who attempted to bury it."   
A long pause. "Now, all of that pales in comparison to Scully   
getting a clean bill of health from the doctor."

Grey sat forward abruptly, spinning to face his brother. "She's all   
right, isn't she? There haven't been any signs of the cancer coming   
back, have there?"

Mulder smiled, touched by the concern. "None so far. The doctor's   
been monitoring her more carefully since the chip was removed.   
According to him, she's the picture of health." The smile faded.   
"But it's always there, like an uninvited guest. When she's more   
tired than usual. If she skips a meal or two." He blanched. "When   
she gets a bloody nose from a box falling off a shelf."

"How's she handling it?"

This time Mulder's chuckle was genuine. "A hell of a lot better   
than I am. It pisses her off to no end if I get overprotective. Tells   
me she won't live her life waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Grinning, Grey settled back into a more comfortable position.   
"Yeah. I can hear her saying it, too. She's a lot like Kate was, you   
know? Tough as nails when it comes to defending what she   
believes."

"What about Kristen? She doesn't exactly strike me as a pushover,   
either." Mulder's grin turned to a smirk. "From what I've heard she   
went toe to toe with Skinner when we were trapped in the hospital   
by the bomb blast. He wanted her to go back to the Bureau, but she   
insisted on staying put until you were found."

Grey chuffed softly. "Yeah, I've run up against her a time or two   
myself. Don't let her fool you. She's every bit as tenacious as Dana,   
her methods are just a little more...subtle."

A comfortable silence, filled only by the hissing and popping of   
the fire, fell between them. When Mulder spoke again his voice   
was heavy with sleep.

"Are you happy, Grey?"

Grey turned, hooking one arm over his brother's outstretched legs   
and leaning his cheek against the cushion. His gaze was abstracted,   
contemplative, but the corners of his mouth turned up.

"Yeah. I guess I am." His voice held a touch of wistful surprise.   
"Losing someone you love--it's kind of like breaking a leg, you   
know? At first the pain is so overwhelming, you can't move, can't   
function. It hurts too damn much. After a while folks start telling   
you it's time to get back on your feet, but just the thought of trying   
to walk again is frightening. You hobble around hurting, every step   
a huge effort, certain that you're gonna fall flat on your face any   
minute. And the really terrible part, the thing that keeps you awake   
nights, is that you can remember how wonderful it once felt to run.   
How effortless it was. And you know that you took it all for   
granted.

"And life goes on like that. Some days are better than others. Until   
one day you take a step, expecting to feel that same old stab...but it   
never comes. So you take another step, and another, waiting for it   
to hit, for that other shoe to drop. But it never does. And you   
realize that maybe, just maybe..."

"You're ready to run again," Mulder murmured.

Grey's eyes jerked sharply to his brother's, then softened. "Yeah. I   
think I might be. 'Course, I still get these twinges, now and then."

"Nobody said you had to start off with a marathon. The journey   
starts with just one step, and all that. Give yourself credit for   
getting back in the race, even if you're not quite ready to finish   
yet."

"I'll keep that in mind." A grin spread slowly across Grey's face.   
"Sometimes I forget that my brother's a shrink."

Mulder released an explosive breath of laughter. "Hey, I might as   
well use the degree to help you. God knows, I've never been much   
good at helping myself." He broke off in a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Looks like my cue to let you get some sleep." Grey gave the leg   
under his hand a pat and stood, stretching both arms over his head   
until his spine cracked.

Mulder blinked up at him. "I must be getting old; it can't be more   
than ten o'clock."

"It's called fresh air, little brother. You should try it more often."

"I get fresh air." Mulder folded his arms across his chest and   
clamped his lips into a thin line.

Grey huffed and shook his head. "I'm not talking about jogging   
through the streets of DC, sucking in exhaust fumes." He sobered.   
"You work too hard, Fox. You need to take more time, you and   
Dana. You never did have a honeymoon, did you?"

"Yeah, we did. We went to California, remember?"

Grey's eyebrows disappeared beneath a tangled sweep of hair.   
"You're kidding, right? Flying out to the coast to investigate a   
supposed mermaid is not a vacation, let alone a honeymoon."

"It wasn't so bad. I got us a room at a really nice bed and breakfast   
on the beach." When Grey's look of pity didn't fade, Mulder   
scowled. "All right, all right. I've got a couple ideas in mind; I'm   
planning on surprising her after this mess with the bombing is all   
cleared up. And before you ask, no, none of them are remotely   
connected to paranormal phenomena."

"He can be taught." Grey stifled a yawn and rubbed at his eyes   
with the back of one hand. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder   
at the back door. "Because I'm such a wonderful person, I'll let you   
have first crack at the facilities before bed."

Mulder groaned pitifully and hauled himself upright. "I can't   
believe I actually managed to forget that little detail." He wrinkled   
his nose. "It's pitch dark out there. And cold--can't be more than 45   
degrees."

Grey extended a hand and tugged him to his feet. "See there? You   
could have a promising career as a weatherman if your job at the   
Bureau ever falls through."

"And if you're considering comedy, I wouldn't quit my day job,"   
Mulder growled, snagging his jacket and ambling to the door. "If   
I'm not back in five minutes..."

"I'll radio for search and rescue," Grey snickered.

Mulder paused outside the back door, gazing upward. The   
cloudless night sky provided a velvet backdrop for thousands of   
stars and a nearly full moon. The deep silence, broken only by the   
occasional rustling of undergrowth or the distant cry of an owl,   
made a sharp contrast to the twenty-four hour bustle of busy DC   
streets. He drew in a long, slow breath of the crisp air and sighed,   
slightly amused by the thought that dwarfed all others.

Wish you were here, babe.

He shivered, stuffing his hands into his pockets and crossing the   
grass to the small but functional shack. He was in the process of   
reaching for the handle, thoughts still wrapped up in the   
surrounding beauty and Scully, when the stench of blood hit his   
nostrils and he froze, eyes dropping to the shadowed ground in   
front of the door.

At first glance it was little more than a ball of bloody fur, torn and   
shredded almost beyond recognition. Clumps of hair, bone, and   
flesh littered the grass, puddles of blood soaking into the earth.   
One glazed eye stared sightless upward, the lips pulled back from   
gleaming teeth in a final snarl. The pointed ears, long snout, and   
rust-colored fur testified that it had once been a fox.

Mulder dropped to a crouch, swallowing hard. He'd seen his share   
of gruesome crime scenes, but the brutal dismemberment of any   
creature--whether human or animal--never failed to disturb him. In   
the darkness, surrounded by wilderness and surveyed by hidden   
eyes, it caused a chill to race up his spine.

"Fox? You okay?"

Grey's warmth and solidity at his back chased away the shadows.   
His brother took a long look at the carcass and walked away,   
returning moments later with a large stick. Mulder watched silently   
as Grey shoved the bloody mess out of sight around the corner of   
the outhouse.

"I'll bury it in the morning," he said, watching Mulder closely.   
"Kind of spooked you, huh?"

Mulder lifted one shoulder, a bit embarrassed by his reaction. "Not   
what I expect when going to take a leak." He scuffed some dirt   
over the bloody residue with one toe. "What would do something   
like that?"

Grey shrugged. "Something bigger and hungrier, I guess. This is   
nature, Fox. You know, kill or be killed?"

Mulder frowned. "I'm not completely ignorant, Grey, I know how   
it works. But that..." He shook his head. "From what I could see,   
whatever killed that didn't eat it. Just...shredded it."

"Yeah." Grey cast a quick glance at the woods. "Well, no one ever   
said nature was kind." He lifted an eyebrow. "Now are you gonna   
use that or am I?"

It broke Mulder out of his daze and he grinned. "Patience, Bubba.   
Give me a minute, and then it's all yours. You can even take that   
magazine you were reading in with you."

"Funny."

Mulder watched him walk back to the cabin before taking hold of   
the handle and tugging open the door. The blood at his feet   
gleamed black in the moonlight. He stepped carefully over the   
puddle, unable to shake his feeling of disquiet or the pall that had   
dropped over a once pleasant evening.

 

Great Smoky Mountains  
Saturday  
8:26 a.m.

 

He'd just finished tying his boots when the cabin door opened, then   
shut with a resounding bang that rattled the pictures on the walls.   
Mulder craned his head over the back of the couch to find Grey   
standing with arms folded and a thunderous expression on his face.

"Grey? What's wrong? Are you having trouble with the spare?"

"No, I'm not having trouble with the spare." Grey spoke through   
tightly clenched teeth. "There is no spare."

"What?" Mulder stood and crossed quickly to his brother. "What   
do you mean, no spare? It was right there on the back of the truck;   
I saw it myself."

"Oh, there's a tire there all right. It just doesn't happen to have any   
air in it. Which makes it damn useless, now doesn't it?" Grey   
sucked in a long slow breath and released it, tucking his chin to his   
chest and massaging the back of his neck.

Mulder eyed him for a moment, then tugged open the door and   
strode outside. He stood next to the crippled vehicle, hands   
propped on hips, waiting for Grey to join him. "Let me get this   
straight. We're stranded out here, surrounded by nothing but   
mountains, forest, and wild animals, with a truck that has two flat   
tires and a radio that doesn't work. We've got enough canned goods   
to last two--maybe three days, if we ration them, three-quarters of   
a jug of fresh water, and two beers. And it's roughly twenty-five   
miles to the nearest town."

Grey flashed him a toothy grin. "I'd say that about sums it up. You   
know, you're real good at that, little brother. Must come in handy   
on the job."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "I'm serious, Grey."

His brother chuckled, moving close enough to prop a hand on   
Mulder's shoulder. "I can see that. Look, the situation is bad, not   
hopeless. According to Mark, there's another cabin about eleven   
miles from here. It's rugged terrain, but if we stick to the road--  
such as it is--we shouldn't have too much trouble."

Mulder chewed his lip, only slightly mollified. "You're forgetting   
one thing. What if Mark's neighbor didn't drive up to enjoy the   
great outdoors this weekend?"

"Not a problem. The guy is retired; he lives up here year 'round.   
Mark says he's kind of the grouchy old hermit type, but decent   
enough once you get past his bluster."

Mulder's eyebrows soared. "A grouchy old hermit? Living alone in   
the mountains? Isn't that a little clichÈ?"

"Maybe hermit is a little extreme. The guy keeps to himself, that's   
all." Grey waved his hand at the jacked-up truck squatting sullenly   
on the gravel drive. "I'm sure, considering the circumstances, he'll   
be willing to give us a lift into town--or at the very least, the use of   
his radio."

Mulder's gaze shifted from Grey to the car and back again, lips   
compressed to a thin line. Finally, he sighed. "Eleven miles, huh?"

As if he'd managed to transfer his morose mood to his brother,   
Grey smiled cheerily. "We should make it to Chris Peterson's cabin   
by early afternoon. With any luck we can still get to town and back   
before nightfall."

"Chris Peterson? The hermit's name is Chris?" Mulder's voice   
dripped disbelief.

"Yeah? So? Is there a problem?"

"The problem is that grouchy hermits are not named Chris. They're   
named Jed, or Zack, or Jeremiah."

Grey stared at him, then snorted indelicately. "Guess his mama   
wasn't in class the day they discussed that rule. Now why don't you   
grab your backpack and we'll hit the road. Or we could continue to   
stand here and waste daylight discussing Mrs. Peterson's choice of   
a name for her son." He grinned toothily at Mulder before   
sauntering into the cabin to collect his own pack.

By the time they struck out for the Peterson cabin the sun had risen   
above the treeline and the air had turned from frigid to comfortably   
warm. The dirt road, fit only for rugged vehicles such as Grey's   
SUV, was deeply rutted in some spots and almost completely   
nonexistent in others. After only a mile both of them had shed their   
sweatshirts, and Grey's sweat dampened hair had begun to curl   
defiantly around his ears and the nape of his neck.

"You know, I hate to sound negative," Mulder mused, shifting the   
straps of his pack to settle it more comfortably on his shoulders,   
"but this trip of yours hasn't exactly gotten off to a stellar   
beginning."

"This trip of mine?"

"Yes, yours. You're the one that couldn't wait to get us out in the   
middle of nowhere communing with the wildlife, Nature Boy."

Grey clutched his chest. "I'm wounded. I thought we were having a   
great time. What about that hike through the woods yesterday?   
And that gourmet meal you concocted last night? I saw the way   
you were soaking up the peace and quiet and all those stars before   
we went to bed."

"Yeah, until I almost stepped in pureed fox." A flicker of   
disappointment passed across Grey's face, disappearing so quickly   
Mulder wasn't positive he'd seen it. He sighed. "Hey, I did enjoy   
all those things. But you have to admit, we've had more than our   
share of bad luck."

Grey opened his mouth as if to argue, but shut it with a shrug.   
"Guess I can't dispute that point. Look at it this way--we've paid   
our dues. I mean, what are the odds that a run of bad luck like   
we've had is gonna continue?"

"You forget, I investigate the supposedly improbable," Mulder   
replied dryly. He stopped and shoved his fingers through damp   
hair, brushing it back from his forehead. "Wait up a minute, I need   
some water."

"Just don't drink too much. We've still got a long way to go."

Grey took a few swallows from his own canteen and proceeded to   
adjust his baseball cap, idly scanning the surrounding forest. Two   
squirrels chased each other through the treetops at breakneck   
speed, leaping from branch to branch. A woodpecker worked   
furiously on the trunk of a large oak, beak tapping rhythmically. A   
sparkle at the periphery of his vision caught his attention and he   
turned, squinting through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses as he   
struggled to make out the source.

The answer hit him like a freight train and he reacted without   
stopping to think.

"Fox, get down!"

He launched himself at his brother, the distinctive crack of a rifle   
piercing the air a split second before they both tumbled down the   
embankment into a shallow ditch. A second report followed   
immediately after the first, kicking up dirt and gravel at the side of   
the road, and then an unnatural silence blanketed the forest.

Grey remained motionless for a moment, sprawled across Mulder,   
who had landed on his right side. His heart thudded wildly in his   
chest, and his brother's short, sharp pants for air seared his neck.   
Slowly, cautiously, he tipped his head up until he could look into   
Mulder's white face.

"That was gunfire."

"I noticed." Mulder spoke through locked teeth.

Grey frowned at the tension in his brother's face and voice. "You   
all right?"

"Not entirely."

"Not entirely? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm still breathing, but I think that streak of bad luck we   
were talking about isn't over yet." The sarcasm was forced and   
Mulder's attempted smirk turned into a wince.

Grey quickly rolled off his brother's body but kept his head down.   
"You're hit? Where?"

"Right leg, above the knee." Mulder struggled to prop himself up   
on his elbows. He made it halfway before his face twisted and he   
grunted in pain, collapsing onto his back.

"Easy, easy. Lie still for a minute and let me check things out."   
Grey's voice was calm, reassuring, but his eyes betrayed him.

Hands traveled carefully down Mulder's thigh, pausing a few   
inches above the knee. A tug and the sound of ripping cloth.   
Mulder stared up at his brother's face--jaw set, lips compressed to a   
thin line.

"How bad is it?"

Grey's eyes met his for only a moment before sliding away. "Brace   
yourself. I've got to check for an exit wound."

Fingers slipped under Mulder's knee and... White-hot agony shot   
through his leg from hip to toes, wrenching an involuntary cry   
from his lips. His eyes slammed shut, sparks dancing across the   
lids, while a rushing sound like the surf on a windy day filled his   
ears. Grey's voice, at first nothing more than an insistent buzz,   
gradually resolved into words.

"...so sorry, Fox, I had to know. Stay with me, little brother. That's   
it, c'mon back."

Mulder blinked, wrestling with a tongue turned thick and clumsy.   
"Still in there."

Grey grimaced. "Yeah. Most likely in the bone, which is why it   
hurts like a son of a bitch. But then, I don't have to tell you that."   
He cautiously lifted his head high enough to peer out of the ditch,   
panning the forest. "We've got to get out of this hole and into the   
cover of the trees. If we stay here we're sitting ducks."

Mulder licked his lips. "I was hoping we could chalk this up to a   
hunter with bad eyesight. You think it was intentional?"

"Whoever it is had a high-powered scope trained on us. I spotted   
the reflection right before he fired." Grey slipped his pack off his   
shoulders and rummaged through it, pulling out a clean tee shirt.   
With his pocketknife he tore the fabric into several large strips.   
"You're bleeding like a stuck pig. I've got to try to slow it down or   
we'll be leaving a neon sign for him to follow." He paused. "That   
means putting pressure on the wound." A slight tremor spoiled the   
matter-of-fact tone.

Mulder met his gaze without flinching. "Do it."

Grey nodded, giving his brother's shoulder a squeeze. He folded   
one of the cloth strips into a square, laid it over the wound, and   
with a last, apologetic glance, pressed down firmly.

No sparks this time around. An explosion of pain so intense   
Mulder thought the top of his head might blow off before darkness   
blotted out the distress in Grey's face.

He surfaced dizzy and disoriented, the need to vomit nearly   
overwhelming. Everything around him bounced and swayed so   
whenever he attempted to open his eyes, the nausea tripled. His   
head throbbed, his leg was on fire, and someone was swearing a   
blue streak. A gunshot, then two more, and the bouncing became a   
gut-churning lurch.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna puke."

Mulder wasn't sure if he said it or thought it, but his brother's   
voice, tense and breathless, cut through the haze.

"Hang on, hang on...almost there."

Snapping and rustling sounds preceded the brush of leaves against   
his dangling arms. Mulder abruptly realized he was hanging upside   
down, in a fireman's carry, over Grey's shoulder as his brother   
jogged through the forest. Icy droplets of water pelted his cheeks   
when Grey tromped through a small, shallow stream and then   
scuffled awkwardly down a steep slope. Despite caution, about   
five feet from the bottom Grey tripped on a root and nearly lost   
hold of him. Mulder's head plunged precariously toward a large   
rock before Grey regained his balance, cursing under his breath.

Just when Mulder was certain neither his stomach nor his leg could   
endure another minute, Grey's frenetic steps slowed, then stopped.   
He eased Mulder gently to the ground, propping his upper body   
against the trunk of a large tree, and peered into his eyes.

"Hey there. How you doing?"

Mulder stared blearily at him. My leg is killing me and I just spent   
the last five minutes slung over your shoulder like yesterday's   
garbage. How the hell do you think I'm feeling?

He opened his mouth to retort, but instead lunged to the left and   
proceeded to lose every bit of the breakfast Grey had prepared that   
morning. Each twist of his gut provoked a corresponding spasm in   
his injured leg until he was doubled over, panting and whimpering   
helplessly.

Cool fingers at the back of his neck, a strong arm curled around his   
middle, supporting him. When the violent cramping in his stomach   
eased, Grey held the canteen to his lips so that he could rinse his   
mouth, then settled him back against the tree. Mulder shivered   
helplessly as his brother dampened a scrap of cloth and wiped his   
face.

"Where are we?" The words jittered and trembled as badly as his   
body.

Grey stripped the pack from his shoulders, dug out the discarded   
sweatshirt, and helped him slip it on. "About a half mile north of   
the road. This seemed a good spot to stop and get our bearings."   
He reached over to brush an errant lock of hair off Mulder's sweaty   
forehead. "We got problems, Fox."

Mulder's mouth twisted. "You think?"

Grey reached into Mulder's pack and pulled out his Sig, holding it   
so that Mulder could plainly see the weapon was missing its clip.   
"Seems like some practical joker made off with all our ammo.   
We've been set up, Fox. And by someone who knows what he's   
doing."

Mulder's jaw dropped. "How...?"

Grey shrugged, his mouth set in a grim line. "Last night when we   
were out stargazing? First thing this morning when we were   
looking over the truck? I didn't check my weapon before we left   
the cabin, did you?"

Mulder tucked his arms tightly against his body, miserable. "Didn't   
think I needed to. Everything was still in my pack from when we   
hiked yesterday. I just filled my canteen."

"Yeah. Me, too." Grey swore and chucked the weapon back into   
Mulder's pack. "I should've known better. You never start out on a   
major hike like we were attempting without taking inventory of   
your pack."

Mulder ground his teeth together to prevent them from chattering.   
"C...cut yourself some sl...slack. It's not like we c...could've   
predicted some nut would be t...taking potshots at us."

"Yeah, well, the idea is to be prepared for anything," Grey   
muttered. "I sure as hell know that."

He dug through his own pack and produced a small first aid kit.   
Mulder looked down at the blood-soaked bandage tied around his   
leg, swallowed hard, and glanced away.

"I wasn't exactly...at the top of my game...when you were hauling   
my ass out of that ditch...but I thought I heard shots."

"You heard right." Grey gingerly cut away the bloody cloth with   
his knife. "Our friend started firing the minute I lifted my head.   
Nearly took it off." He opened a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and   
paused.

"I know, I know. Got to be done." Mulder tipped his head back   
against the rough bark and stared up into a spray of yellow leaves   
that undulated gently in the breeze. "What's the plan anyway? Back   
to the cabin?"

"It would be closer." Grey flushed the wound with antiseptic and   
blotted with a clean gauze pad, holding Mulder's leg steady when   
his brother's body turned rigid. He continued to speak softly and   
slowly, flinching slightly when the fingers of Mulder's right hand   
buried themselves in his shoulder. "Problem is, it'd put us right   
back where we started--literally and figuratively. We've got no   
radio and no transportation, Fox. And you need a doctor."

Grey packed the wound with fresh gauze and bound it with more   
strips from his tee shirt. By the time he'd finished, Mulder was   
panting as if he'd run a marathon, drenched in sweat and wracked   
with tremors. Grey set aside the kit and moved between Mulder   
and the tree with his brother's body pulled against his chest,   
soaking up his warmth.

"Easy, Fox. Deep breaths."

After several minutes Mulder's trembling abated and his frantic   
gulps for air slowed. "Let me get...this straight. We're still   
heading...for Jed's place?"

It took a moment for the joke to register, then Grey chuckled   
quietly. "Don't see what choice we have. That grouchy hermit's our   
best hope for getting out of this mess."

Mulder let his head drop against his brother's shoulder. "Grey...   
Maybe you should go without me. I could wait here...for you to   
bring help."

Grey stiffened. "No way. I'm not leaving you for that psycho to   
hunt down. You've got no weapon and you're damn near helpless,   
Fox. We stay together."

Softly, little more than a whisper. "I'm not sure I can make it,   
Bubba."

Grey's reply was rough. "You don't have to. We will. Together."

"Then consider this. Whoever's behind that rifle...went to a lot of   
trouble...to bring us here. He's going to do...anything he can   
to...prevent us from reaching Jed."

Grey cranked his head to look into his brother's face. "What are   
you saying?"

"That I don't think...our run of bad luck...was luck at all."

Grey stared at him. "The radio? The flat tires? You think he was   
behind all that?"

"Don't you?" Mulder tried to shift position, groaning when it only   
succeeded in sending a spike of agony through his leg. "He's got us   
right...where he wants us. Whoever he is...he's thorough."

"All the more reason not to split up." 

Grey eased Mulder forward and stood. He meticulously replaced   
the contents of their packs and slung them both onto his shoulders   
before squatting down beside his brother.

"We need to move. You ready?"

Mulder gave him an incredulous look, then nodded. Grey slid his   
hands under his brother's armpits and lifted, steadying him when   
he wobbled like a newborn colt. He slipped Mulder's right arm   
over his shoulder and looped his own around his brother's waist.

"Okay, we'll take it nice and easy. Cutting straight north through   
the forest instead of taking the road will trim at least three miles   
off the trip, but it'll be rough going. Just holler when you can't keep   
up and we'll take a break, relax a few minutes."

"Sure. I'll bring the wine and cheese." Mulder ground the words   
out through his teeth, blinking against the blackness hovering on   
the edge of his vision.

Grey snorted and started walking, supporting his brother so that he   
could keep most of the weight off his injured leg. "If this is your   
idea of a party, little brother, next time you can leave me off the   
guest list."

Mulder concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and   
remained silent, conserving his strength.

 

Great Smoky Mountains  
Saturday  
4:41 p.m.

 

"We've got to find someplace to hole up for the night."

"'M okay. I can...keep going."

Grey looked over at his brother, a mixture of amusement,   
tenderness, and irritation clouding his features. "Fox, you and   
'okay' aren't even in the same zip code."

Mulder swiped wearily at a damp lock of hair that insisted on   
falling into his eyes. "What's that...supposed to mean?" His voice,   
wispy and breathless, betrayed his exhaustion and pain as plainly   
as his pale, drawn face.

"It means I've seen stiffs that looked better than you do right now."   
Grey was breathing hard himself, the strain of bearing most of his   
brother's weight in addition to his own turning an already   
strenuous hike into a nightmare. "Look, I'm about done in myself,   
and the sun will be down soon. Last thing we need is to tumble off   
a cliff in the dark."

"Well...when you put it...that way..."

"Hang on a minute." Grey hesitated, eyes scanning the dense   
foliage surrounding them. "Over here." He tipped his head in the   
direction of a shallow ravine about twenty feet down a steep grade   
peppered with loose stones and shale.

"Are you...crazy? I'll never make it...down that...without breaking   
my neck. And yours." Mulder's voice vibrated with frustration and   
weariness.

"I know it's risky, but we'll take it nice and slow. Trust me on this   
one, Fox, I know what I'm doing."

"Should know...by now. My motto's...trust no one." Mulder shifted   
too much weight onto his injured leg, grimacing.

"Really? I thought you changed it to 'trust everyone.'" Grey pressed   
his lips together, unsuccessfully attempting to conceal a smirk.

Mulder's brow creased, then smoothed. "'S there anything...Scully   
hasn't told you?"

"You're a fairly frequent topic of conversation." Grey draped his   
brother's arm more firmly across his shoulders. "C'mon. Just a little   
further. Let me do the work."

Even at a snail's pace, the trip down the slope was treacherous.   
Stones, polished smooth by melting snow and rain, defied the   
traction of their boots, and tree roots poked from the soft earth to   
catch unsuspecting toes. By the time they reached the bottom Grey   
was gulping air like a drowning man and Mulder was a dead   
weight, his chin pressed to his chest and his eyes reduced to slits.

"Almost there," Grey panted, dragging his brother along the floor   
of the ravine to an area bathed in shadow from the surrounding   
trees and a slab of rock that protruded from the side of the hill.   
"Just a little further, almost there." He wasn't sure if he was talking   
to the limp form in his arms or himself.

Grey eased Mulder down with his back against a large boulder and   
dropped the packs from his shoulders with a groan of gratitude. He   
braced his hands in the small of his back and stretched until his   
spine cracked, then rolled his shoulders and massaged his neck.   
Never taking his eyes off his brother, slumped against the rock like   
a broken doll, his only movements the harsh rise and fall of his   
chest and fingers that clutched and kneaded the flesh just above the   
bandage on his leg.

"You still with me?"

One eye cracked open. "Just trying to decide...whether to go   
dancing...or send out for pizza."

Grey snorted. "While you're deciding, I'm going to scout around   
for a minute. Stay put, okay?"

"If you...insist."

Mulder let his head sag back against the rock with a soft thump   
and tracked the crunch of Grey's boots on dead leaves and gravel   
as his brother prowled around the gully. Only a hint of a breeze   
stirred the trees, but as it dried the sweat gluing his hair to his   
forehead the chills returned. His head throbbed relentlessly, his leg   
was on fire, and the cool stone at his back increased his shivering--  
tremors that exacerbated every ache and pain. And the one person   
he longed for, who could ease the misery simply with the warmth   
of her hand in his, was a lifetime away.

"Fox, sit up a minute."

Grey's voice and the gentle pressure of fingers on his shoulder,   
startled Mulder out of a doze he hadn't realized he'd slid into. He   
blearily allowed his brother to tip him forward, balking when soft   
fleece brushed his cheek.

"Forget it. Going to get...cold tonight. You'll need it."

Grey's hands never faltered as he worked Mulder's arms into the   
sweatshirt like a stubborn toddler's. "I've got my windbreaker. And   
I'm going to build a fire."

Mulder stiffened, surprise allowing Grey to finish the job without   
further argument. "Are you nuts?"

Grey cocked an eyebrow. "You keep asking me that question. Do   
you expect an answer, or can I assume it's rhetorical?"

Mulder refused to be sidetracked. "Have you forgotten the fact that   
we are not alone--and for once I'm not talking on a cosmic scale.   
You build a fire...and it'll be like a neon sign...for our friend to   
follow." He broke off, panting heavily from the outburst.

Grey slipped on his jacket and moved over to a small pile of sticks   
and twigs he'd evidently gathered while his brother had been   
dozing. He began arranging them in a configuration that made little   
sense to Mulder's untrained eye, but obviously held some purpose.   
His reply was calm and unruffled.

"Fox, I didn't drag you down here to enjoy the scenery. The sides   
of the ravine, the thickness of the trees, and the rock over our   
heads are all going to camouflage a fire if we keep it small and   
don't burn anything that will generate smoke. I'm not a novice at   
this, I know what I'm doing."

"Harder to see...but not impossible," Mulder persisted through   
gulps for air. "'S risky, Grey. You know it."

Grey fished a book of matches from his pack and turned them over   
in his palm. "It was cold last night. It's gonna be cold tonight.   
You've lost a lot of blood, you're most likely in shock, and all that's   
standing between you and the cold is a couple of sweatshirts." He   
looked squarely into Mulder's eyes. "You'd never make it, little   
brother."

Mulder searched in vain for a response but found instead, in a   
place deeply buried, that his brother was right. Grey proceeded to   
light the fire, patiently feeding it with twigs until he had a small   
but respectable blaze. He then retrieved the first aid kit and   
brandished it with a sympathetic wince.

"'S okay. It already hurts like hell. Can't get much worse."

Grey began carefully to unwrap the strips binding his brother's leg.   
"You said before that you think this guy set us up. Any ideas who   
he could be and why he's gone to all this trouble?"

Sweat broke out on Mulder's forehead but he kept his eyes locked   
on the granite above their heads. "Could be...any one of...ah...the   
enemies I've made." His mouth twisted into a sardonic little grin.   
"Plenty to chose from. As for why...'s pretty obvious...isn't it?"

Grey wet his lips, keeping his expression blank as he regarded the   
bullet wound, the edges swollen and angry red. He opened the first   
aid kit and uncapped the hydrogen peroxide as he worked to keep   
his brother talking.

"You're not the only one who's got enemies. What makes you so   
sure you're the target?"

"Besides the slug in my leg?"

Grey nodded, secretly pleased with the sarcasm. When Mulder   
continued, he tightened his grip on the bottle of antiseptic.

"In case you've forgotten...he left me a damn calling card...outside   
what you call a bathroom last night. Or maybe it was more like...a   
letter of intent--" Mulder's words cut abruptly into a sharp cry of   
agony followed by obscenities, and his spine arched as the   
peroxide bubbled and fizzed in the open wound.

"It's over, it's over. Breathe, Fox. Nice and slow." Grey set aside   
the bottle and dressed the wound with fresh gauze. "You think our   
boy is responsible for that dead animal?"

"Dead fox." Mulder ground out the words, teeth clenched so hard   
the tendons in his neck stood in sharp relief. "Bit   
coincidental...isn't it?"

Grey tied off the bandage and sat back, studying his brother's face   
with red-rimmed, exhausted eyes. "Whoever he is, he's good. This   
was planned by a pro."

Mulder raised a trembling hand to swipe at a drop of perspiration   
trickling slowly down his cheek. "All the ones I put away were   
good, Grey. That's why they gave them to me."

Grey fished a bottle of ibuprofen from the kit, popped the cap, and   
snagged his brother's hand. He held it steady and shook three   
capsules into the palm, handing Mulder the canteen once he'd   
placed the pills on his tongue. Grey's lips thinned and his eyes   
narrowed as he watched his brother drink.

"We've already discussed this, so let's not even go there. Every   
time you talk about that prick Patterson I want to hit something."

The corners of Mulder's mouth twitched. "Anyone ever tell   
you...your eyes flash when you get angry?"

"Yeah, yeah. Part of my southern charm. I'm not kidding, Fox. I   
said it before and I'll say it again. I don't understand how you can   
pass off the way they treated you when you were profiling. If not   
for the X-Files you'd've wound up in either a grave or a straight   
jacket, and you know it."

Mulder took another swig from the canteen before handing it back   
to his brother, the teasing glint fading from his eyes. "There were   
killers to catch. Lives to save. You think I was the only one...close   
to a breakdown? Comes with the job."

Grey shook his head, frustration a bitter edge in his normally   
mellow drawl. "A job you did too well. Patterson used you like   
some kind of natural resource he'd staked a claim to. And he'd've   
used you up if you hadn't gotten out when you did."

Mulder shrugged. "Water under the bridge." He blew a soft puff of   
air through his nose. "In some ways the X-Files aren't all that   
different. Still chasing monsters. They just don't wear masks."

Grey tucked the first aid kit back into his pack. After more   
rummaging, he pulled out several foil-wrapped quick energy bars.   
He smiled brightly, waving them in the air as if displaying a   
gourmet feast. "Dinner?"

Mulder eyed them with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Think I'll   
wait for the pizza guy."

The grin slid off Grey's face. "Fox. You need to eat something. It's   
the only way you're going to keep your energy up."

"Bubba, if I eat that...won't be my energy coming up." When his   
brother's expression didn't soften, Mulder sighed. "All right. Give   
me the red one."

He managed three bites, ever mindful that Grey was watching him   
surreptitiously, before his stomach rebelled. Dropping the half-  
eaten bar in the dirt beside him, Mulder tipped his head back and   
breathed deeply, willing the little he'd consumed to stay put. 

"Can't," he said, the words clipped, terse.

"Fox..."

Mulder's eyes snapped open and he lunged forward. "I said I can't,   
damn it! Don't force me to eat something I don't want, I hate that!"

Grey blinked, startled by the fury. "Okay, okay. I hear you."

He slumped back against the rock, grimacing. "Sorry. You just... I   
always hated that when I was a kid."

Grey scanned his face for a moment, then moved so that he, too,   
was seated against the rock, shoulder brushing his brother's.   
"Tee...Mom make you clean your plate when you were a kid?" His   
voice was very soft, noncommittal.

Mulder gazed out into the ravine, now almost completely cloaked   
in darkness. "Before Sam was taken. After..." He snorted. "She   
couldn't be bothered most of the time. I ate whatever I wanted--  
whatever I could scrounge from bare cupboards and a nearly empty   
refrigerator. Every once in a while she'd have an attack of guilt and   
try to cook dinner for me. Unfortunately, she usually burned it, or   
mixed up the ingredients so it tasted terrible. That didn't stop her   
from forcing me to eat it, though."

Grey studied the hair at the nape of Mulder's neck, struggling with   
the now familiar feelings of anger and sadness his brother's   
childhood never failed to provoke.

Careful. This is shaky ground.

"Didn't anyone notice what was going on around your house?   
Other family members? Teachers? Friends?"

The reply was light, sarcastic. "I'm sure the Mulder family was   
excellent fodder for the rumor mill. But we always put on our   
game faces in front of company."

Grey tugged off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through   
sweaty strands of hair. "It's okay to be pissed at them, you know.   
You've earned that right."

Mulder's shoulders stiffened. "Samantha's abduction was   
devastating. They did the best that they could."

"Cut the bullshit!" Grey's explosive retort startled Mulder. His   
head snapped around and his mouth worked for several moments   
without producing sound. Grey plowed on.

"You were a child, Fox! They were supposed to be the grown-ups,   
it was their job to take care of you. If they were too traumatized, if   
they were incapable of dealing with their own crap, then they   
should've gotten help."

Mulder shook his head with a laugh that took too much effort.   
"First Patterson, now my parents. Why exactly do you feel the   
need to defend me against the world?"

Grey didn't smile. "Someone has to, Fox. God knows, you refuse   
to defend yourself."

Mulder's eyes cut off to the trees, but he leaned a little more   
heavily into Grey's warmth. "Guess Scully must have figured out   
by now that she's not getting a phone call. You available to defend   
me against my wife?"

Grey chuckled softly, willing to let the subject slide. "You're on   
your own there. I'll have my own explaining to do." He sighed.   
"With any luck Dana and Kristen will figure out something is   
wrong and send in the cavalry."

Mulder shivered, drawing his arms deeper into the sweatshirts until   
the sleeves covered his hands. "Maybe. The thing is, I haven't   
always been the most...uh...reliable person when it comes to   
checking in with Scully. She's probably not going to get too   
worried right away."

Grey finished the bar he'd been munching and stuffed the wrapper   
into his pocket. "My guess is Kristen will do enough worrying for   
them both. Ever since your buddy Krycek snatched me while I was   
on my way to her house... Well, let's just say I always let her know   
if I'm running late."

Mulder smothered a yawn, shifting his weight in an attempt to ease   
the throbbing ache in his leg. Unfortunately, the simple movement   
caused a stab of pain so intense his vision erupted into bright   
flashes of light, and for several minutes he could hear nothing but   
the rush of his own breath. He was only peripherally aware of   
hands pulling and tugging, a low voice rumbling near his ear, and   
sudden heat driving some of the chill from his body. 

At last the pain receded to a dull roar and he was able to slit open   
his eyes. Only a few slivers of pale light remained, even the small   
fire's glow muted by the darkness. Mulder suddenly realized   
something soft and warm had replaced the frigid rock at his back.   
Blinking, he gazed down at an additional pair of arms wrapped   
around his middle.

"You back now?" Grey's gentle drawl held just a hint of strain.

Mulder struggled to sit up, reluctant to admit how good the warmth   
felt. "You can let go. I'm okay now." He winced at the croaking   
rasp of his own voice. "I promised Kristen I'd behave."

"Shut up." The growl was good-natured, lacking any genuine   
anger, and Grey's arms tightened. "You're shaking like a leaf and   
I'm not much warmer. First law of survival--use all available   
resources. Shared body heat just makes sense. Now get some   
sleep." Mulder could almost hear the smile. "I promise I'll still   
respect you in the morning."

On the heels of the warmth came bone-deep fatigue. Mulder's head   
settled back on his brother's shoulder and his eyes slid shut.

"'Kay. But if it starts raining sleeping bags, 'm outta here."

"Huh?" Grey craned his head to study his brother's face, the   
features now slack in sleep. He blew out a long breath of air and   
settled more comfortably against the rock. "Guess that's one she   
hasn't told me, little brother. Remind me to ask."

 

Blood Ties 10: A Dish Served Cold (7/19)  
By Dawn  
sunrise@avenew.com

 

Georgetown  
Saturday  
6:58 p.m.

 

She was standing in a spill of frigid air, contemplating the contents   
of her refrigerator, when the phone rang. Scully let the door close   
with a soft whunk and crossed to scoop the receiver off the   
counter.

"A little late, aren't you, Mulder? Are you two so wrapped up in   
bonding that you couldn't look at a watch?" She leaned one hip   
against the cabinets, the warmth in her tone belying the edge to her   
words.

A long pause, then a tentative soprano response. "Ah...Agent   
Scully? It's Kristen. Kristen Harding?"

Scully tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear as she   
returned to the refrigerator. "Kristen! Sorry about that. I was   
expecting a call from Mulder." She poked at a container of leftover   
chili, lip curled. 

"I know. I was expecting one, too--from Grey, I mean. Before he   
left, he said he'd give me a call this afternoon when they went into   
town for supplies. I've been home all day working on handwriting   
analysis reports for Violent Crimes, but the phone never rang. I   
thought maybe you'd heard something." A slight rise in pitch   
communicated her hope that Scully would deliver.

"I wish I could tell you I had." Scully cracked open a Tupperware   
dish of something that had grown fur, quickly dropping the entire   
thing into the garbage can with a wince. "I was at Quantico for   
most of the afternoon but my cell was on. I haven't heard a thing   
from Mulder since Thursday night."

Another silence, then a rush of words tinged with embarrassment.   
"You don't think anything is wrong, do you? Grey is always so   
reliable; if he says he's going to do something, he does it. And they   
are pretty high up in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere,   
really. It would be so easy for one of them to get lost, or break a   
leg, or fall off a cliff..."

Scully's amusement turned sour when she excavated a piece of   
pizza that looked to have originated in the Pleistocene Epoch. She   
turned away from the refrigerator and headed for the drawer that   
held Mulder's collection of take-out menus.

"Have you eaten dinner yet?"

Obviously not the response Kristen had anticipated. "I...um...well,   
no. Like I said, I've been working on these reports, and..."

"I was just about to call out for Chinese. Why don't you join me?"

"I..."

"Look, staring at the phone isn't going to make it ring any sooner."   
Practicality built from hard experience, Scully thought ruefully.   
"I'm sure they're just running behind schedule. It is a vacation,   
after all. This way we'll save them a phone call."

"I am tired of staring at these walls." Kristen's voice warmed,   
steadied. "All right. Give me fifteen minutes to wrap up this file   
and I'll head over. Can I bring anything?"

"Just yourself. I'll see you in a bit."

Scully switched off the phone, sternly ordering the little bell in her   
head--the Mulder panic alarm--to switch off. She hadn't simply   
been quoting platitudes to Kristen; Mulder's penchant for taking   
off on a whim was legendary. If she had a dime for every time...

*This is different. Mulder's changed a lot over the last couple   
years. Plus, his brother is with him. Grey certainly isn't one to get   
caught up in a wild goose chase to the exclusion of all else.*

With an impatient huff, Scully retrieved the phone and punched in   
the number for Yu's. Since she was unfamiliar with Kristen's likes   
and dislikes, she thumbed through the menu and selected a variety   
of dishes in the hope they'd both be satisfied. She ran a quick   
check of the living room, but with Mulder gone the coffee table   
was free of sunflower seed husks, the basketball tucked in the front   
closet rather than nestled on the couch. By the time she had   
changed to a faded pair of jeans and walked around the corner to   
pick up the food, Kristen was waiting on the front steps and the   
buzzing in Scully's head had ceased.

"You must think I'm completely neurotic." Kristen carried   
cardboard containers to the table as Scully removed them from the   
brown paper bag. "Getting concerned over one missed phone call."

With a raised brow, Scully held up the teakettle, filling it with   
water when Kristen nodded. She set it on the stove, one shoulder   
lifted in a small shrug. "And you could accuse me of being   
negligent for not giving it much thought. It doesn't make either   
emotion right or wrong." Her lips curved. "You're new at this. I've   
had eight years."

Kristen fiddled with the end of the long blonde ponytail that trailed   
down her right shoulder. "Maybe."

Scully motioned to the table and they sat, sifting through cartons   
and spooning the food onto their plates. "Look, I really don't want   
to sound blasÈ about this," Scully said, pausing to fix Kristen with   
a compassionate gaze. "I just *know* Mulder. He exists in his own   
world sometimes." She smirked. "A world not governed by the   
laws of nature as we know them. That includes time as a universal   
invariant. We'll probably get a call any minute laced with profuse   
apologies for worrying us."

Kristen picked up a pair of chopsticks and snagged a piece of   
chicken. Halfway to her mouth she stopped, stared at the tidbit as if   
it were a foreign object, and returned it to her plate. Her faint smile   
couldn't disguise the disquiet in her green eyes. "Agent   
Scully...Dana. I'll admit that you and Mulder share a lot more   
history than Grey and I. But I like to think I know him. And he   
knows me. So I think I can speak with complete confidence when I   
say that something about this missed phone call doesn't feel right.

A little line appeared between Scully's brows and she opened her   
mouth to reply, only to be silenced by Kristen's upraised hand.   
"Remember last year, when Grey was kidnapped?"

An image flashed across Scully's mind--Mulder shivering with   
cold, pacing up and down the shoulder of a highway as he searched   
desperately for clues to his brother's disappearance. He'd been   
sick--mortally ill--only none of them had realized it at the time,   
and he'd been too consumed with worry for his brother to   
acknowledge his own body's warnings. A chill crept up her spine   
like icy fingers.

"I remember."

"I sat in my apartment for nearly two hours that night, expecting   
him to walk through the door any minute. Telling myself he'd   
probably just stopped for gas or to pick up flowers or...or just   
about anything I could come up with that didn't include blood, and   
twisted metal, and ambulances. See, my father died in a car   
accident when I was nine, and to this day..." She swallowed hard.   
"To this day I can vividly remember the way my mom sat by our   
big picture window, waiting for him to come home."

"I'm sorry," Scully murmured.

"'S okay. I survived." Kristen's smile faded. "But I also learned a   
lesson. Bad things don't always happen to other people. Sometimes   
they hit a lot closer to home. So, you see, those hours waiting for   
Grey were two of the longest of my life." She studied Scully's pale   
face. "I know you've been there.

"Anyway, a funny thing happened to me. When that nightmare was   
all over, when I was sure I'd put it all behind me, it came back to   
bite me. Grey was driving up from Raleigh for the weekend. He'd   
called right before he left. And then for some reason, spur of the   
moment, he decided to make a little detour and visit Mulder on the   
way. And I..." She pressed her lips tightly together and shook her   
head, flushing. "I lost it. By the time he got to my place I was a   
nervous wreck, ready to call the highway patrol to institute a   
search for his dead body. 

"Grey was..." She chuffed a little laugh, "bewildered. To say the   
least. I cried; he apologized. We talked about it, eventually even   
laughed about it. It isn't as if I don't know the feelings are   
irrational. But that doesn't make them any easier to cope with."

"I understand." Scully's voice was low, little more than a whisper.   
"There was a period of time, after Mulder was so sick, when he   
couldn't sneeze without my heart climbing into my throat."

"Then maybe you can also understand why I'm convinced Grey   
wouldn't risk giving me a nervous breakdown just because he was   
having a great time and forgot to look at his watch." Kristen   
paused but her intense gaze never wavered. "He wouldn't."

Scully set her chopsticks on her plate. Not only had her hunger   
been banished by the little lizard wriggling in her gut, the alarm   
bell in her head had risen from a whine to a shriek. 

Kristen's eyes narrowed and she gave a small jerk of her head.   
"You feel it, too. It's written on your face."

Annoyance mixed with fear, tightening Scully's lips and   
sharpening her gaze. "Even if something did go wrong, there's no   
reason to assume the worst. It could be something as simple as a   
flat tire or a...a damaged phone line. Mulder told me the cabin has   
a radio. I'm sure if anything really serious had happened...î

Except the more she talked, the less she believed her own words.   
How many times, really, had Mulder been overdue if there wasn't   
trouble involved? The "Mulder panic button" in her head had   
served to be eerily accurate over the years. As the old expression   
went, "Methinks she doth protest too much." Perhaps her   
determination to assuage Kristen's fears was merely an excuse for   
denying her own instincts.

The teakettle whistled shrilly and Scully stood, absurdly grateful   
for an excuse to avoid Kristen's troubled eyes. She busied herself   
preparing two mugs of green tea and tried not to think about   
Mulder's track record with nice little trips to the forest. Kristen   
accepted the tea with murmured thanks and graciously refrained   
from commenting on the way the liquid jittered in the cup. Scully   
cradled her own mug in both hands and took a long sip, eyes   
slipping shut as she mentally reconstructed her composure.

"I'm sorry." The regret in Kristen's voice failed to conceal the steel   
beneath. "I've heard about the situation you've been dealing with at   
work. I honestly didn't want to add to that burden, but it looks like   
that's exactly what I've done." She set down her mug and pushed   
back her chair. "Maybe the best thing I could do for you at this   
point is to leave."

Scully's hand on her arm arrested the motion. "Kristen..." She drew   
in a long breath, expelling it in a harsh puff. "The way I see it, it   
doesn't really matter what theory you subscribe to regarding the   
missed phone call. For the moment, there's really only one thing   
we can do."

"Wait." The little crease between Kristen's brows clearly   
communicated how she felt about that idea. Her chin tipped   
upward. "But if we don't hear anything this evening, I'm contacting   
the police in Spring Creek first thing in the morning."

Scully released her arm. "If we haven't heard from them by then,   
I'll make the call myself." When Kristen's forehead smoothed and   
she nodded, Scully continued, "But it's still early; there's no reason   
to assume they won't call. And while we're waiting, we may as   
well eat some of this food. Leftovers have a way of turning to toxic   
waste in that refrigerator.

Kristen rewarded her with a genuine grin. "I hear you. Those little   
Tupperware dishes always seem to get shoved in the back where I   
don't see them. Last time I cleaned out the fridge I think I   
discovered several new species."

"Hazards of the job." Scully popped a shrimp into her mouth. The   
crackle in the air between them had dissipated and she felt the   
muscles in her shoulders loosen. "A case can take Mulder and I out   
of town at a moment's notice, and frequently it's days before we   
come home." She chuffed. "At least I put leftover food into those   
little plastic bowls. Mulder just shoves it into the refrigerator as is.   
Once when I was at his apartment I found some vegetable soup in   
a saucepan with a piece of plastic wrap over the top. Top shelf,   
right next to the milk. He called it 'streamlining.'"

Kristen struggled not to choke on a mushroom. "Streamlining?"

"He said it cuts down on the number of dishes that need to be   
washed, and makes reheating much easier. You just pull the pot   
out of the refrigerator and put it on the stove. Simple." She shook   
her head as Kristen snickered. "When he moved in we made a   
deal--I take care of putting the leftover food away, and he's in   
charge of discarding it if it lives past its prime." She grimaced.   
"When he's here."

"You haven't really told people at work, have you?" When Scully   
looked up sharply Kristen lifted one shoulder, flushing. "I guess I   
thought that once you got married the word would be out. There's   
the usual watercooler intrigue and speculation, of course. But that's   
all it really is--intrigue and speculation."

Scully picked up her plate and took it to the counter. "It's not like   
we're engaging in any subterfuge. We drive to work together every   
morning and we've never removed these." She paused, twisting the   
band on her ring finger before swiveling to face the sink. Her voice   
remained measured, even. "Given that, I hardly see the need to   
take out an ad in the newsletter. Mulder worries about the impact   
on my career, but frankly, that's peripheral for me. As far as I'm   
concerned, as long as we continue to do our jobs, our personal life   
is no one's business but our own. The watercooler gossip will   
continue with or without our input."

"I'm sorry. You're right, it isn't anybody's business, including   
mine." Kristen's voice communicated support rather than   
contrition.

Scully turned and leaned against the counter, arms folded. "It's all   
right. I didn't mean to include you." She smirked a bit, lips curved   
and eyebrow arched. "After all, I suppose you're practically   
family."

To her surprise, Kristen's jaw tightened and her eyes slid over to   
the wall.

Scully hesitated, then resumed her seat at the table. "Looks like it's   
my turn to apologize."

Kristen shook her head with a weak smile. "It's all right. Lately, I   
tend to follow the 'one day at a time' plan when it comes to my   
personal life."

Scully snorted indelicately before grasping her mug. "There must   
be a genetic marker there somewhere."

Kristen bit her lip, eyes scanning Scully's face, indecision plain.   
Finally she sighed and a rueful little smile twisted her lips. "I love   
him. And I'm pretty sure he loves me. But I never thought I'd find   
myself competing for a man--let alone with a woman who's been   
dead five years."

"Kate." Scully swirled the amber liquid in her cup. "Not an easy   
act to follow."

"Don't misunderstand me--I would never, NEVER expect Grey to   
forget her or stop talking about her. I know she's a part of him, a   
part of loving him."

"But it gets a little crowded sometimes." When Kristen's jaw   
dropped Scully smiled. "Early in our partnership, before I ever   
dreamed I'd wind up romantically involved with Fox Mulder--not   
to mention married to him--I figured out that his sister was an   
integral part of his life. A package deal."

Kristen inclined her head, index finger tracing the wood grain of   
the tabletop. "But she was his *sister.* He could allow himself to   
love you without feeling as if he'd somehow betrayed her."

**Old Memorial Bridge. Mulder, wrapped in a trenchcoat and his   
own despair. The pains in her own body secondary to the ache in   
her heart...

"Mulder, why didn't you tell me on the phone that it was her?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd never let me go through with it."**

Scully blinked, focused in on Kristen's voice.

"...not like he hasn't been up front with me. I knew it wasn't going   
to be easy."

"You said you're 'pretty sure' he loves you." Quiet. Tentative.   
Scully left the opening but didn't press.

"He shows me every day, in lots of ways." Kristen's hand crept up   
to massage the flesh over her right temple. "But he can't seem to   
say the words. He's come close a few times but..." She chuckled   
bitterly. "You know, I would swear I could feel Kate there,   
standing right between us." The smile dried up. "I'm not in a hurry,   
Dana. I'm more than willing to give Grey all the time he needs to   
come to terms with his feelings. I'd just like to be sure he'll get   
there, eventually."

Scully pursed her lips. "Mulder sometimes refers to himself as   
'high maintenance.'" She shrugged. "The truth is, nothing worth   
having comes without a price. You just have to decide whether the   
end result is worth the cost." She cocked an eyebrow. "From what I   
can see, we've both made our decision."

"God help us," Kristen muttered, and they both burst into laughter.

The conversation turned to work-related topics as Kristen helped   
Scully clear the table, pack away leftover food in the dreaded   
plastic bowls, and wash the dishes. As the evening progressed,   
however, the silences grew thicker and more awkward as the   
phone stubbornly remained mute and uncooperative. By ten   
o'clock Kristen was ready to take her leave, her pale, drawn face a   
good match for Scully's rigid shoulders and jangling nerves.

"Thank you for dinner." Kristen's eyes involuntarily searched for   
the phone, then darted back to Scully's face. "I doubt they'll call   
now. Grey told me he avoids driving those roads at night."

"Try not to worry. They both have their weapons and Grey is more   
than capable of navigating the woods. We'll probably hear from   
them in the morning." Scully mouthed the words without feeling   
them. 

Kristen's expression said she wasn't fooled, but she played along.   
"I hope you're right. Good night, Dana."

Scully engaged the deadbolt and wandered through the apartment,   
turning off lights as she went. She paused in the doorway to the   
bedroom, staring at a bed that looked too big, too cold, and too   
empty. She closed her eyes, remembering solid warmth along her   
spine, a whispery tickle of breath on the back of her neck, the   
scratchy hair on long legs tangled up with her short ones. The need   
to see him hit her with the force of a wrecking ball, crumbling the   
composure she'd so carefully maintained in front of Kristen. 

And abruptly, unreservedly, she acknowledged what she had   
known all evening. That he was in trouble. Serious trouble.

In three quick steps she'd crossed the room and scooped up the   
phone. For the next hour she punched numbers, drawing on both   
her credentials and her diplomatic skills to track down warm   
bodies in the Spring Creek Police Department, the state police, and   
the local forestry service. The answers were maddeningly the   
same. "No, we haven't heard of any trouble or disturbances up that   
way. Sorry, there's nothing we can do until morning. We'll call if   
we hear anything." One foolhardy officer at the Spring Creek   
Police station, irritated by the disruption of his normally peaceful   
graveyard shift, had the temerity to suggest Scully's concern was   
not only unfounded but indicative of a neurotic, overly-possessive   
wife. By the time she'd finished with him he'd offered profuse   
apologies, promised to send someone up to check on the cabin as   
soon as it was light, and volunteered to canvass the local hospitals   
in case anyone with Grey or Mulder's description had been   
admitted.

When she hung up the phone, Scully's worry and frustration   
reached critical mass. Her nature, when faced with a problem, was   
to act. To tackle the situation head on and let nothing stand in her   
way. Mulder in danger only intensified the impulse, the *need* to   
do something. 

Yet even Scully had to admit that she'd exhausted all avenues of   
investigation available to her at 11 o'clock on a Saturday night.   
Now she could only wait for daylight. And pray, for Mulder and   
for the one who stood in her place.

"Grey," she murmured, oblivious that she'd spoken aloud. "Keep   
him safe."

 

Great Smoky Mountains  
Sunday  
5:33 a.m.

The fire was dying.

Grey carefully shifted his brother forward and then eased him to   
the ground, settling him on his good side, cheek cushioned on a   
backpack. Fox made a small sound of complaint, eyelids fluttering,   
and drew his arms more tightly against his body. Grey tucked his   
jacket up around the hunched shoulders, laying one hand lightly on   
his brother's head until Fox quieted.

He stood slowly, wincing at the pins-and-needles sensation in his   
legs as circulation returned. The muscles across his shoulders and   
neck felt stiff and tight from the rock's damp chill. He gingerly   
rolled his head and stretched, hands propped in the small of his   
back. The cold air raised gooseflesh on his bare arms and he   
hastily gathered several sticks and crouched closer to the fading   
warmth of the weak fire.

The flames eagerly accepted his offering, and he'd soon rekindled a   
respectable blaze. The first pale threads of light penetrated the   
trees, but in the small ravine the shadows remained thick. Grey sat   
with knees bent, arms linked loosely around his legs, and wished   
mightily for a cup of coffee--for Fox as much as for himself. Chills   
had wracked his brother's body on and off throughout the cold   
night, at times so violently that he could hear teeth clicking   
together.

Grey had done the best he could with limited resources, stripping   
off his own jacket and wrapping it around them both in an effort to   
contain body heat. Toward dawn Fox had quieted, the shivers   
tapering off, and Grey had managed a light doze which, though   
brief, had taken the edge off his own weariness.

Soon it would be full daylight, time for them to strike out for the   
cabin. No way to tell exactly how much ground they had yet to   
cover, but he figured they'd traveled close to eight miles so far and   
his internal odometer was usually accurate. That left another three   
miles.

Three miles. It didn't sound like much. Until you factored in Fox's   
rapidly deteriorating physical condition. They'd limped along at   
little better than a snail's pace yesterday, his brother stubbornly   
insisting he didn't need to rest while desperately trying to conceal   
how badly he was hurting. How much worse would it be today,   
after a night spent on the cold ground?

Grey tipped his head and ran one hand along his stubbled jaw,   
shifting his eyes from the flames to scan his brother's face. Too   
pale, drawn, the flesh under each eye darkening to a bruised   
crescent. In the flickering light cast by the fire he looked far too   
young and fragile to be an almost-40-year-old FBI agent adept at   
tracking down aliens and serial killers.

Responsibility, weighty and encumbering, pressed down on Grey's   
shoulders like a knapsack of rocks. It was all up to him, now, to   
elude a killer, navigate them safely to the cabin, and get Fox the   
medical attention he so desperately needed. And meanwhile the   
clock ticked relentlessly.

Piece of cake.

"Whatsa matter? Something wrong?"

The raspy voice startled Grey. He watched Fox wrestle his eyelids   
open and blink owlishly, brow furrowed.

Grey snorted. "Wrong? What could be wrong? There's a deranged   
killer after us, you've got a bullet in your leg, and we're still a good   
three miles from any kind of help."

"Oh, is that all. I was afraid the Mets won the World Series."   
Deadpan. Sarcasm and dry wit intact.

The fist around Grey's heart loosened, and he rolled his eyes.   
"Very funny. How's the leg?"

Mulder licked his lips, grimaced. "I'd rather talk about the Mets."

"Water?"

"Yeah."

Grey snagged his pack and extricated the canteen. He turned back   
just in time to grab his brother's shoulder as he swayed   
precariously close to the fire.

"Whoa! Easy, Fox."

Mulder sucked in a deep breath, then batted Grey's hands away.   
"I'm okay. Just sat up too fast, that's all." He stared down at the   
jacket that now lay pooled in his lap, obviously noticing it for the   
first time. A mixture of shame and gratitude clouded his eyes, and   
he thrust the coat at Grey without looking up. "Take this, you're   
gonna freeze."

Grey held his tongue as he accepted the jacket and handed over the   
canteen. He fished several energy bars from the pack and held   
them up while his brother drank.

Mulder's lip curled and he took on a greenish hue. "Pass."

Grey opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, handing   
over three ibuprofen caplets instead. 

"Breakfast of champions." Mulder tossed the pills into his mouth   
with a wink and washed them down with more water, then passed   
the canteen to his brother.

Grey ate two of the energy bars and some water before reaching   
for the first aid kit. Mulder watched him lay out the supplies for a   
moment, then turned his face away.

"I've been meaning to ask you about something. Where did you   
learn so much about survival and navigating your way through the   
woods?"

Grey's answering chuckle was little more than a cloudy puff of   
vapor. "I was wondering when you were gonna ask me that   
question. Guess it's time I shared that part of my sordid past."

"Bring it on." Mulder gave him a brief smirk, quickly returning his   
gaze to the fire when Grey began to remove the bandage from his   
leg.

"I hit a bad patch when I started high school, what my parents like   
to call my PITA phase--you know what I mean?"

"The 'pain in the ass' phase? Are you kidding? Most of the brass at   
the Bureau would swear I'm still there." Mulder ground the words   
through clenched teeth. Despite Grey's efforts to be gentle, just   
unwrapping the leg had caused him to break into a cold sweat.

"I see your point." Grey stared at the angry red flesh surrounding   
the wound, loath to admit that it appeared even more inflamed.

"Anyway, I got in with the wrong crowd. Guys whose sole purpose   
in life was to party hard, who believed that rules existed so that we   
could break them. It was life in the fast lane and I was having a   
great time. Until two things happened."

Grey poured the remaining hydrogen peroxide into the wound. His   
brother choked off a moan, eyes squeezed shut and hands   
clenched. When the bubbling and fizzing began to taper off,   
Mulder cracked open one eye.

"Two things?"

Grey picked up a gauze pad. "Yeah. And they were doozies. First,   
I got my midterm report. I was failing English Lit and only pulling   
Ds in Geometry and Chemistry. This from a normally A and B   
student." Grey shook his head, mouth twisted in a rueful grin.

"My folks hit the roof. Grounding me for life was discussed as a   
viable option. Then, while they were still making up their minds, I   
was arrested for possession of marijuana. Now I was dead meat."

Mulder snickered, groaned when the motion jostled his leg, and   
snickered some more. "I can imagine."

"Anyway, to make a long story short, since it was my first offense   
and I'd basically been a good kid, the judge let me off with a slap   
on the wrist. My parents, however, weren't so forgiving. Next thing   
I knew I was packed off to a kind of...boot camp for troubled teens.   
I spent my spring break slogging along the Appalachian Trail using   
muscles I didn't know existed and serving as dinner to mosquitoes   
the size of horses. And the strangest part was, I loved it." Grey tied   
off the bandage and sat back on his heels, a bemused smile on his   
lips.

"I came back cured of my rebellious ways--" He chuffed. "Well,   
mostly. And I continued to attend survival camps over the next few   
summers, just for the fun of it." Grey shrugged a little sheepishly.   
"And that's about it."

Mulder's eyes panned the ravine, the shadows all but banished by   
the early morning sunlight. He glanced sideways at Grey, the   
barest hint of a smile curving his lips. "Final exam time, Bubba.   
Hope you studied hard."

Grey collected their packs, slipped his brother's arm around his   
neck, and slowly stood. "Got it covered, little brother. Smooth   
sailing."

 

10:30 a.m.

"So this is what you call...smooth sailing...huh? Remind me...never   
to get in a boat with you."

"Here. Sit down and stop being a smartass."

Grey settled his brother onto a fallen log, dropped the packs, then   
used the hem of his tee shirt to mop his face. Though the   
temperature was pleasantly cool in the shade, he was drenched in   
sweat and his muscles trembled with fatigue. He uncapped the   
canteen, barely a quarter full now, took a few swallows, and   
crouched down in front of Fox.

Despite his exertions and two sweatshirts, Fox's arms were tightly   
laced around his shivering body. Cheeks flushed, eyes too bright.   
Grey pressed the back of his hand to the damp forehead, dismayed,   
though not surprised, by the heat. He rummaged through his pack   
for more ibuprofen, peeled one of his brother's hands away from   
his torso, and placed the caplets in the palm. Fox obediently   
swallowed them with some water, his movements jerky and   
mechanical.

A twig snapped somewhere off to their left. Grey stood, sharp eyes   
carefully scanning the vegetation as he placed his body   
deliberately in front of his brother. After several tense moments of   
seeing nothing but a squirrel and several birds, his shoulders   
slumped and he turned back to face Mulder.

"I know you're done in. But as near as I can figure we're almost   
there. I just need you to keep going a little longer."

Mulder dipped his head. "Let's get this...over with."

Packs on his shoulders, Fox's arm slung around his neck, they   
lumbered onward. Though Fox valiantly tried to help, with each   
step Grey found himself bearing more and more of his brother's   
weight, until his back screamed in protest and each breath cut like   
a knife through his lungs. They scrambled up a small hill, nearly   
tumbling head-over-heels on the way down when Grey's foot   
caught on a protruding root.

Ahead, the vegetation thinned and the sunlight blazed brightly.   
Grey's heart soared with hope, but his body could do no more than   
maintain the steady plod forward. They dodged a pine tree, skirted   
a bush bearing bright red berries, and staggered into a clearing.   
Two hundred yards ahead, shaded by several large maple trees,   
was the back of a log cabin nearly twice the size of theirs.

"That's it!" Grey crowed. "We made it, Fox! We made it!"

Caution abruptly dampened his euphoria and he tugged his brother   
backward several steps into the cover of the woods while he   
scrutinized the cabin and the surrounding area. A blue jay chased   
several smaller birds from a feeder before settling down to claim   
the spoils. Two smaller trees served as anchors for a clothesline,   
where three white tee shirts and a pair of navy pants flapped in the   
light breeze. Wisps of smoke drifted from a stone chimney.

The heavy thump of his brother's head hitting his shoulder made   
Grey's decision for him. Fox's eyes slipped shut, then shot open as   
he fought to hold onto consciousness.

"Looks quiet to me," Grey muttered. "C'mon, little brother. Just a   
few more steps and we'll find you a place to lay down."

They limped around the side of the cabin. A long gravel driveway   
snaked through the trees and up to an attached garage, the door   
three quarters of the way closed. A porch ran past the front door   
along the entire front of the cabin and an empty rocking chair   
creaked back and forth in the wind. To the left of the door a   
wooden sign proclaimed "Welcome" in bright, cheery colors.

Grey nudged his brother as they moved closer. "See that?"

Mulder snorted, winced. "Some hermit. 'S a disgrace...to recluses   
everywhere."

"Not so loud," Grey cautioned. "We need that recluse to..."

One foot on the porch, hand coming up from his side to knock,   
Grey froze. Eyes locked on the two- by ten-foot slice of garage   
revealed by the partially open door. Lips tightening to a thin line   
he shuffled back around the corner to press their backs tightly   
against the side of the cabin.

"What's wrong?" Like the flick of a switch, Mulder's voice was   
sharp, alert. "What is it?"

Grey eased him to the ground, dropping both packs and opening   
his own. "I got a peek at the car in the garage. Tires are flat." He   
pulled out his gun and stood. "Stay here. I'll be back."

Mulder squinted up at him. "Are you crazy? What good's that   
going to do, you don't have any bullets!"

"We've played poker--you should know by now I'm good at   
bluffing," Grey hissed. "Besides. Even empty it feels good in my   
hand."

He left before his brother could argue further, continuing along the   
side of the cabin, around the corner, and toward the back door with   
his spine firmly against the wood. French doors opened onto a   
large deck. Grey flattened himself to the left of the door, inching   
his hand out until he could curl his fingers around the knob.

It turned, easily.

Sucking in a deep breath, Grey nudged the door open.

"Chris? Chris Peterson?"

Nothing. The jay and several other birds took flight, the laundry   
continued to flap in the breeze, and smoke still wafted from the   
chimney. Grey tilted his head to peer through the glass. Colorful   
braid rugs on a polished hardwood floor. A large stone fireplace,   
the remains of a log smoldering on the grate. Everything neat and   
in place. Except Chris Peterson.

Grey slipped inside but remained near the door. "Mr. Peterson?   
Are you here?"

On the wall a large carved clock ticked relentlessly, the sound   
absurdly loud in the silence. Grey crept through the greatroom to   
the kitchen. Not a single crumb marred the spotless countertops   
and the sink was free of dishes, with the exception of a lone water   
glass. A desk in the corner bore a stack of opened mail and a   
shortwave radio. Grey glanced quickly over his shoulder before   
crossing to the desk and reaching for the power switch.

Nothing. Frustration welled up and he found himself muttering   
whispered curses under his breath as he twisted dials and punched   
buttons. The end result was the same--the radio might as well have   
been a box of rocks.

Grey left the radio and strode down a narrow hallway to the front   
of the cabin, anger undermining some of his caution. To his right a   
nearly empty coat closet and a study, books lining the walls. To his   
left a bedroom, the door slightly ajar.

Abruptly, inexplicably, the hairs on the back of Grey's neck stood   
up. He swallowed, dry throat clicking, lay his palm against smooth,   
six-paneled pine, and pushed.

The smell hit him immediately. Thick, coppery, it filled the air and   
left a bitter tang in the back of his throat. A large four-poster bed   
faced the door, a handmade quilt covering the distinctive form of a   
man lying prone atop the mattress. Crimson splatters adorned the   
quilt, walls, and even the ceiling like a bizarre work of modern art. 

Still clutching his weapon, Grey walked slowly forward on stiff   
legs, the back of his hand pressed across his nose and mouth. The   
quilt cocooned all of the motionless form but a small fluff of steel   
gray hair. Grey stretched out his hand and plucked at the blanket   
with thumb and forefinger, drawing it carefully back to expose a   
face.

"Oh my god."

The words felt torn from his numb lips, and he actually staggered   
backward two steps before he caught himself. He closed his eyes,   
breathed through his mouth, and waited for his pounding heart to   
slow.

"Grey! Are you all right?"

He gasped, spinning, eyes wide. Fox leaned in the doorway, a   
white-knuckled grip on the jamb all that was holding him upright.

"Grey?"

"We made a mistake, Fox. It's not what we thought."

His brother's eyes darted to the bed, took in the carnage. "What are   
you talking about? You're not making sense."

Grey gestured to the body, face pale. "None of this is about you,   
Fox. It never was. Our friend--it's me he's after." He paused,   
swallowed. "And I know exactly who he is."

 

Reagan National Airport  
Sunday  
8:16 a.m.

 

"What do you mean, 'nobody's home'?"

Scully balanced the cell phone precariously between shoulder and   
ear while she attempted to heft her bag into the overhead   
compartment. The absence of the long legs and strong arms that   
normally performed the task fueled her worry and frustration,   
sharpening her voice.

The voice on the other end of the line remained patient and   
excruciatingly polite. "Ma'am, it's like I already told you. I sent one   
of my best men, Jim McCullough, up the mountain first thing this   
morning. He radioed in not fifteen minutes ago from the cabin.   
According to him, when no one came to the door, he walked   
around the area calling for Mr. Mulder and Mr. McKenzie.   
Nobody answered."

"Agent Mulder and Detective McKenzie." The bag was tugged   
from her grasp and shoved into the bin. Scully turned to flash   
Kristin a tight smile before zeroing in on the hapless sheriff. "Well,   
was the door locked? Did he try to look inside the cabin? What if   
they were sick, or injured? Did he stop to consider..."

"No, the door was not locked, and yes, he searched the inside of   
the cabin." The smooth drawl took on an edge. "Everything was in   
place. The bed had been slept in, there was the remains of a fire on   
the hearth, and a pot of coffee in the kitchen that was still warm."   
A pause, and she could almost hear him gathering his composure,   
see the patronizing smile. "They probably just went out for an   
early morning hike, the weather's good and the fall colors are   
awful pretty right now. I know for a city gal the idea of being   
without a phone can be intimidating, but I don't think one skipped   
call should unduly alarm you."

Scully dropped into her seat and fastened the belt, ignoring the   
flight attendant's pointed glare at her cell phone. "Sheriff Edwards,   
I am a federal agent, not a possessive wife. Believe me, I wouldn't   
have insisted someone check on my husband and brother-in-law if   
I didn't have solid reasons for doing so. But we can discuss that   
when I get there."

An extremely long pause. "Ah...get here?"

Only her concern for Mulder kept Scully from laughing out loud at   
the dismay in his voice. "That's right. I'm on an eight-thirty flight   
to Raleigh, so with any luck I'll be in Spring Creek by early   
afternoon."

"Now hold on, Agent Scully, I really don't think..."

"I have to go, Sheriff, the plane is about to take off. I'll see you in a   
few hours." Scully stabbed the power button and glared at the   
phone, her emotions a confused blend of anger, worry, and wry   
amusement.

"Something tells me they don't get many female law enforcement   
officers in this neck of the woods. Either that, or the sheriff has a   
death wish."

Kristen's dry sarcasm wrenched an explosive puff of air from   
Scully's lips, coaxing them into a weak grin. "I wish I could say   
that attitude was limited to small towns in the sticks, but I've come   
across a fair number of my fellow agents that share Edwards'   
views."

"Yeah. I've butted heads with a few myself." Kristen shook her   
head and stared out the window as the plane pulled away from the   
gate. "As women we work twice as hard to get half the respect. So   
much for equality."

"That's the thing that impressed me about Mulder, right from the   
start." Scully felt Kristen's eyes leave the window to study her face   
but couldn't seem to suppress the wistfulness in her voice and   
features. She countered with a chuckle that held equal parts humor   
and regret. 

"There I was, a virtual babe in the woods entering the dragon's lair.   
Mulder knew I'd been sent as some kind of ringer, commissioned   
to debunk his work. He was more than aware of Blevins' desire to   
shut down the X-Files, and he had no way of knowing I didn't   
intend to be a part of that agenda. Yet from the very first time I   
walked into his office, he treated me as an equal, as someone of   
value. He tested me, baited me...made me want to strangle him.   
But..."

When she didn't resume speaking, expression pensive, Kristen   
nudged her. "But...?"

"Even when he was acting like the world's biggest ass, he listened   
to me. When he asked for my opinion, it wasn't just to follow   
protocol or be politically correct. He really wanted to know what I   
thought. We didn't agree--didn't even come close--but he respected   
what I had to say. Took me seriously." Scully's mouth curved, her   
gaze on a distant memory from a motel room in Oregon. "Even   
when I gave him a pretty compelling reason not to."

Kristen leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Is it ever...I mean..."   
She sat back, cheeks pink. "Never mind."

An arched eyebrow. "Go on."

"No, it's kind of personal and really none of my business."

"Now I'm really intrigued. Go ahead, ask me."

"It's just that you're together all day at work. And now that you're   
married, you're together nights and weekends, too. Does it ever get   
to be--I don't know--too much of a good thing? How do you keep   
from bringing the work home, getting on each other's nerves?"

Scully pursed her lips. "We have our moments." Sighed. "To be   
truthful, getting married hasn't changed us very much. We always   
seemed to wind up spending our free time together, even after a   
long day at the office or a week in the field. He's my best friend,   
even when he's irritating the hell out of me."

Kristen nodded slowly, eyes drifting back to the window. "It scares   
me sometimes." Softly, unsure.

"Grey?"

Another short nod. "I can be a control freak, you know? I like to   
make lists, plan ahead. Even my job involves taking something   
seemingly abstract and making it concrete." She chuffed a rueful   
little laugh. "I'm not big on surprises."

Scully smirked. "And he turned out to be a doozy." She sobered.   
"That's not a bad thing--is it?"

Kristen dipped her head. "It's amazing. But I can't... He's never   
been anything but honest with me, Dana. Kate's death hurt him so   
deeply. He may never be ready for any kind of lasting   
commitment."

"Are you all right with that?"

"I thought I was." Kristen rolled her eyes. "Surprise."

"It's that damn lower lip." The seatbelt sign flicked off and Scully   
reclined to a more comfortable position. She turned her head,   
studying Kristen's profile. "Add to it the open vulnerability and a   
somewhat irreverent sense of humor..."

"Not to mention a great ass." Kristen looked momentarily shocked   
by her own words until they both erupted in laughter.

Scully laid a finger beneath her nose as she struggled for control.   
"And before your know it..."

"It's too late." Kristen's eyes still sparkled, but her voice was   
solemn.

"Welcome to life with a Mulder. Sounds like a bad sitcom, doesn't   
it?" She closed her eyes. "Let's just hope this particular episode has   
a happy ending."

Kristen's reply was soft, nearly inaudible. "It has to."

 

Spring Creek Sheriff's Office  
Sunday  
3:36 p.m.

The coffee, at least, was good. 

The conversation, on the other hand...

"I still think you ladies are making a mountain outta a molehill.   
One missed phone call is no reason to panic. Those boys are   
probably off somewhere having a grand ol' time, not realizing what   
a fuss they're causing."

Scully sucked in a long, slow breath, examining a black scuff mark   
on the toe of her boot while mentally counting to ten. "Sheriff   
Edwards, I have neither the time nor the inclination to relate the   
eight years of history that qualify me as an expert on what my   
husband would and wouldn't do. Suffice it to say, Ms. Harding and   
I are not alarmists, prone to flights of fancy. We are trained federal   
agents with enough experience to sense when something is wrong   
and enough confidence to trust that judgement.

"Now all I need from you is directions to the cabin and five   
minutes with the officer who searched it."

Edwards' eyebrows knit together and he drew in a great lungful of   
air. Before he could launch into the expected diatribe, however,   
something in Scully's face pulled him up short. Clenching his teeth   
together until he looked remarkably like an older Skinner with hair   
and a paunch, he jerked to his feet and stalked across the room.

Flinging open the office door, he stuck his head out and bellowed,   
"McCullough! Get your tail in here." To Scully and Kristen, he   
added, "Jim'll answer whatever questions you have. Give you   
directions to the cabin, too. If you're dead set on driving up there   
now, I'd plan on spending the night. It's gonna storm and those   
roads can be treacherous in the dark--even for folks that know   
what they're doing."

Dignity intact, more or less, the sheriff tipped his chin and exited   
the office, leaving them to wait in solitude for his subordinate.

Scully sighed and took a sip of coffee. "No one could accuse him   
of being subtle," she muttered.

Kristen raised her own mug in a mock salute. "I'd heard through   
the Bureau rumor mill that the X-Files division had a knack for   
pissing off local law enforcement. It's kind of fun to see you in   
action."

Scully nearly inhaled her next swallow. Coughing and spluttering,   
she accepted the napkin from Kristen, glaring as she pressed it to   
her lips. "That's Mulder's MO, not mine. He's the one that can't   
seem to get along with the other kids in the sandbox."

Kristen's mouth twitched. "Uh-huh."

"It's true!"

"So those stories about you in Bermuda..."

"That was completely different; Mulder's life was at stake. We   
found him floating facedown in the ocean, for God's sake! If I   
hadn't pulled rank on that mealy-mouthed police chief..."

"And that bombing in Dallas? Something about you two being in   
the wrong building, tampering with evidence..."

"That 'wrong' building turned out to be the right building and we   
saved a lot of lives! Maybe I wasn't exactly patient when we were   
trying to evacuate, but we didn't exactly have time to go through   
proper channels and make nice. As for the evidence, we were   
obligated to find out the truth, even if that meant..." Scully trailed   
off, chagrined by the amusement in Kristen's eyes and her own   
lame explanations. "Oh, God. I really have become more like   
Mulder."

Movement drew her gaze. A uniformed officer stood nervously in   
the doorway, dark eyes darting to Scully, then Kristen, and back   
again. He looked to be in his mid twenties, still a little green   
around the edges.

"I'm Jim McCullough. Sheriff says you ladies want to talk to me?"

Scully and Kristen stood, accepting the proffered hand.   
McCullough's grip was firm, if slightly moist.

"I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent Harding. My husband and   
brother-in-law are currently staying in the Preston cabin, and are   
overdue in contacting us. I understand you're the one who drove up   
there this morning in order to check on them." Scully moved   
casually around the desk as she spoke, claiming the sheriff's chair   
and motioning for McCullough to occupy the one she'd vacated.

"Ah...yes, ma'am. Yes, I did." McCullough perched on the edge of   
the seat, palms smoothing up and down the material of his neatly   
pressed slacks.

"Can you tell us what you found?"

McCullough stared at her, slack-jawed for a moment.   
"Uh...nothing. Didn't the sheriff tell you?"

"I'm aware you were unable to locate Agent Mulder or Detective   
McKenzie. What I'd like to know, is what you did find."

McCullough's brow furrowed. "Not a thing. Far as I could see,   
they'd had breakfast and gone out--most likely for a hike. Sheriff   
said you ladies were worried, but I sure didn't see any reason to   
be."

Kristen leaned forward, capturing his attention. "Nothing   
looked...odd? Out of place or disturbed? An overturned chair,   
maybe, or a broken window? We're not looking for bloodstains or   
a smoking gun, Officer. It could be something as innocuous as a   
spilled cup of coffee."

McCullough shook his head. "'Fraid not. Only coffee I saw was in   
a pot--still warm, even. Do you really think if something terrible   
had happened they'd be taking time to make coffee?"

Scully glanced at Kristen, seeing her own frustration mirrored in   
pursed lips and rigid spine. She sighed. "Sheriff Edwards said you   
could give us directions to the cabin."

McCullough bobbed his head. "Be glad to. It's not complicated--  
there's basically only one way up once you get out of town. Here."   
He grabbed a small notepad and pen from the desk blotter and   
began jotting down notes.

Scully glanced at the wall clock, dismayed at the lateness of the   
hour. By the time she and Kristen reached the cabin the sun would   
be setting. Too late to do much more than search the interior. Any   
forays into the surrounding area would have to wait until morning.   
Her heart sank with the realization that she held no hope of finding   
Mulder or Grey safely inside.

"Here you go." McCullough handed her simple but specific   
directions written in neat, block printing. "If that's all, ma'am, I   
really should be getting back to work."

Scully nodded, eyes scanning the piece of paper without really   
seeing it. McCullough was halfway out the door when she abruptly   
lifted her head.

"Officer McCullough?"

He turned, shuffling feet betraying his impatience. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Why were you so certain they'd gone hiking?"

His face screwed up. "Ma'am?"

"Earlier you said Agent Mulder and Detective McKenzie had 'most   
likely' gone hiking. Was there some reason you believed that to be   
the case?"

Puzzlement smoothed into indulgence. "Well, of course, I can't say   
for sure. But being that they were gone so early and didn't answer   
when I shouted, I just figured it was the logical explanation.   
'Specially since it wasn't like they could drive anywhere until they   
fixed that flat."

Scully's eyebrows soared. "Excuse me? Are you saying they had a   
flat tire?"

McCullough blinked. "That's right. The one up front, on the right."

"You didn't think that was important enough to mention?" Kristen's   
voice could have cut glass.

An unperturbed shrug. "It's not like we don't see plenty of 'em   
around here. All you have to do is hit a sharp rock or slip off the   
road into a ditch and you can kiss your tire good-bye. I wouldn't   
worry--those fancy SUVs always have spares." He looked at   
Scully. "Was there anything else?"

"No, I think you've given us all you're able." Scully's dry tone was   
lost on McCullough, who seemed grateful to make his exit.

Kristen looked at Scully. "What do you think it means?"

"Maybe nothing." Scully stood and walked around the desk.   
"Maybe everything, I don't know. What I do know is that it's been   
24 hours since they were supposed to call, and it doesn't sound as   
if they ever made it down here for supplies. Something is wrong,   
despite that pot of coffee Officer McCullough finds so reassuring."

"I'm beginning to suspect Officer McCullough couldn't find his ass   
with both hands," Kristen observed.

Scully chuckled, a little amazed she could. It loosened the fist   
around her heart just a bit. "An apt assessment. What do you say   
we get up there and see for ourselves?"

Kristen nodded, her face turning grim. "I say the sooner the better."

 

Peterson cabin  
Sunday  
12:03 p.m.

 

Somehow he made it across the room. Every step sent bright   
shards of agony through his injured leg, telegraphing the pain from   
hip to toe. His body was a jumble of contradictions, limbs   
shivering uncontrollably though heat flushed his cheeks and   
burned the tender skin beneath his eyes. His heart hammered   
wildly in his chest, fueled by the horror on Grey's face, while his   
brain felt sluggish and disconnected.

Three steps from the bed Mulder stumbled and nearly went down   
on the slippery hardwood floor. His sharp hiss of pain snatched   
Grey from his own nightmare just in time to snag a handful of   
Mulder's jacket and halt the plunge. 

"Thought I told you to stay put." The gruff words were a reflex,   
spoken without malice. Grey draped his brother's arm around his   
neck, steadying him.

Mulder stared at the bloody sheet, which had fallen back over the   
dead man's face when Grey grabbed him. "Looks like Jed...won't   
be much help. What did you mean...?" For the first time Mulder   
noticed an odd but familiar odor lurking beneath the heavy,   
metallic smell of blood. "What the hell...is that?"

Grey grimaced. He gingerly reached down and tugged back the   
sheet. Mulder blinked, swallowed.

Chris Peterson's eyes bulged from the sockets like two pale blue   
marbles, mute testimony to the terror he must have experienced.   
His skin, leeched of color, contrasted sharply with the bright   
crimson droplets that splattered his cheeks and pooled over his   
chest. His lower jaw sagged, revealing a white, crystalline   
substance that filled his mouth and spilled from between blue lips.

"Mothballs." Grey's face was still, his voice flat.

Mulder's beleaguered stomach did a long, slow roll, the   
combination of sight and smell proving too much for his already   
tenuous self-control. He closed his eyes and breathed through his   
mouth, swaying a little despite Grey's firm grip. 

Grey immediately drew the soiled sheet back over Peterson.   
"Enough. Let's get you somewhere you can lay down before you   
fall down."

Mulder shook his head, feet dragging as his brother steered him   
toward the bedroom door. "Wait! Not yet. I need to know..."

"You will. I'll tell you the whole story. But not until I get you   
settled and finish securing the house."

Mulder allowed Grey to propel him onward, feeling as if he were   
operating in slow motion while events around him hit fast forward.   
His normally fluid thought processes lurched and stuttered as badly   
as his shivering body, images of the dead man tangled up with his   
yearning for Scully and his fear of what he'd seen written on Grey's   
face.

Back in the family room, Grey lowered him onto the large couch   
and disappeared. Mulder flopped back against the cushions like a   
rag doll, unable to do more than listen as his brother checked the   
locks on doors and windows, rummaging through drawers and   
cupboards as he passed through each room. A loud thud from the   
front hallway and Mulder bolted upright, fingers reflexively   
scrabbling at his waist for a nonexistent gun.

Several smaller thumps and Grey's muttered curses assuaged the   
tightness in his chest. Mulder willed tense muscles to relax,   
keeping his ears keyed to his brother's every movement until   
Grey's footsteps signaled his return. His brother engaged the lock   
on the French doors, fingers absently massaging the crown of his   
head.

Mulder frowned. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Grey dropped his hand, expression sheepish. "I was ambushed by a   
box of files."

Mulder just quirked an eyebrow.

"It fell off a shelf in the coat closet," Grey growled. "I was hoping   
to find a gun, not a decade's worth of tax returns."

"No luck."

An impatient puff of air. "Plenty of luck--all of it bad." Grey's eyes   
panned the windows, his posture stiff and guarded.

"Tell me. All of it."

His brother's quiet command regained Grey's focus. He ran a hand   
over his face and around to cup the back of his neck, dropping chin   
to chest. With a gusty sigh, he wandered over to sink into the chair   
opposite Mulder. Elbows on knees, he laced his fingers together   
and chewed on his lip.

"About six years ago..." His voice faded to a whisper and he   
stopped with a sharp shake of his head. "This is hard. You're   
asking me to go back to a place I...I never wanted to revisit."

Mulder nodded, hugging his arms against his body to conserve   
heat and hide his shivering. "'S Okay. Take your time."

Grey drew in a long breath. "About six years ago there was a string   
of unsolved murders in Raleigh. The victims seemed random--  
male, female, black, white, professional, blue collar. All ages, all   
backgrounds. Under normal circumstances it probably would have   
taken us quite a while to link them together as products of the same   
killer. Except for the fact that he was leaving a very specific   
calling card."

"The mothballs."

Grey tapped a finger to his nose. "We knew we were in trouble by   
victim two, and we'd called in the FBI after the discovery of   
number three. The profiler was useless." He hunched his shoulders,   
shot Mulder an apologetic grin. "In my opinion. He spouted a lot   
of suppositions about the killer that could have been attributed to   
half the population--white male, thirty-five to fifty, average height   
and above average intelligence. Said the condition of the bodies   
showed anger, rage. That the reduction of time between killings   
indicated he was escalating, getting good at what he was doing and   
enjoying it. All very interesting, but..."

"It didn't put you any closer to catching your killer."

The effortful, thin sound to his brother's voice drew Grey's eyes   
like a magnet. "You look awful," he said, digging into the front   
pocket of his jeans. "I didn't find a gun, but I did manage to   
scrounge these prescription painkillers from the medicine chest.   
Looks like our friend the hermit got migraines."

Before he could stand, Mulder waved a weary hand. "Later. Keep   
going."

The line between Grey's eyes deepened. He looked about to argue,   
but Mulder's steely glare evidently caused him to reconsider. He   
leaned back, raking his fingers through unruly hair.

"Finally, after the fourth death, we made a connection. It was so   
simple, really. All the victims had achieved success. In some cases   
that success didn't fit into the normal definition of the word. Along   
with a dead lawyer, we had a construction worker. Turned out he   
not only owned the business, he'd built it from the ground up."   
Grey snorted softly at his unintentional pun. 

"Then there was the high school literature teacher. Nothing   
unusual about her at first glance. 'Till we found out she'd won   
several prestigious awards for her poetry and had recently been   
approached by a major publishing house interested in printing a   
collection of her work. Even our housewife was voted citizen of   
the year by her hometown in recognition of her charity work."

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like your profiler wasn't so   
worthless after all. That's a nice piece of work." 

Something in Grey's face shifted, a hint of color rising in his   
cheeks, but he just nodded. Mulder's eyes widened and delight   
nudged the exhaustion from his expression. "You? You're the one   
that made the connection?" When his brother's silence spoke   
louder than words, he continued, "I'm impressed, Bubba. That's   
downright...spooky."

"There were a lot of folks working on the case," Grey disclaimed.   
"I was just lucky enough to put the pieces together. Anyway, in the   
end it really didn't matter. Thanks to my blunder, our killer fled a   
crime scene and got away clean."

"What happened?"

Grey stood, walked over to gaze out the French doors, his back to   
Mulder. "Fate? Blind chance?" A sigh. "Kate had already been   
diagnosed and she...she wasn't doing so well. She was in the   
hospital overnight, having a treatment. Visiting hours had ended   
and I was headed home.

"It was late--the nurses had cut me some slack and let me stay   
longer than usual. I was walking to my car in the parking garage   
when...I smelled it."

Mulder blinked. "Smelled it?"

"Camphor. Like someone had been packing away sweaters for the   
winter. Sharp and bitter. I just...stopped dead in my tracks. Stood   
there sniffing the air like some kind of bloodhound, thinking I'd   
gone round the bend. That I was so far into the damn case I was   
starting to smell things that weren't there."

Mulder strained to see his brother's face. Gave up. "I've been   
there."

Grey didn't turn, but his hunched shoulders eased a bit. "Yeah. I   
bet you have." Seconds passed with no sound but Mulder's ragged   
breathing. "So just as I was about to start walking, convinced I was   
crazy, I heard a sound. Like something heavy being moved,   
dragged across the concrete. It only lasted a second, but it was   
enough to send me in the right direction. Straight into the middle   
of a God-awful mess." Grey's voice trembled. He cleared his throat   
and plowed on.

"I never saw his face. He was bent over the body at first, then took   
off running as soon as he heard me coming. I chased him, but he   
lost me among the cars." Grey huffed, shaking his head. "Maybe I   
was lucky. I wasn't armed, and judging from the condition of the   
victims, he uses one heck of a hunting knife."

Mulder frowned at the self-deprecation; let it go. "The victim?"

"Survived--sort of." Grey finally turned, his face blank. "A doctor   
from the hospital. Attacked inside the car, according to the forensic   
evidence, then dragged outside. Guess he needed more space. I   
interrupted the bastard as he was putting on the finishing touches.   
The doc pulled through, but there was brain damage. I heard he   
wound up in a nursing home."

Mulder let his head drop onto the back of the couch, struggling   
against eyelids increasingly determined to close. "It wasn't your   
fault he got away. You stumbled onto something you were   
completely unprepared for and unequipped to handle. No one   
could blame you."

Grey blinked, animation seeping back into his features. "This from   
the master of self-castigation." But he slowly returned to sit in the   
chair. "The fact of the matter is that I had the perfect opportunity to   
stop the monster, and I came up empty. A permanently crippled   
victim and a vanished perpetrator. Hell, I blame me."

"Vanished..." Comprehension bypassed the fuzziness. "You never   
found him?"

"Never had the chance. After that close call in the garage he must   
have packed his knife in mothballs--or left town. The murders   
stopped, and as time passed the case sank to the bottom of the pile   
and was filed, unsolved. I had other things on my mind by then.   
Like watching my wife die." Grey's long fingers curled into fists.   
"I thought that was the end of it. I haven't thought about the sick   
bastard in more than three years."

"And now he's back."

Grey's eyes darted to his brother's face. "Why now? And, more   
importantly, why me?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was out of circulation for a while. It's   
not uncommon for a killer to be temporarily sidelined--even   
apprehended--by some other crime. He could have spent the last   
few years in jail.

"As for why you? You got in his way. He had a good thing going   
until you came along and spoiled it. A lot of serial killers are   
meticulous about the process of death--compulsively so. When you   
interfered with that ritual, he may have fixated on you." Mulder   
gnawed his lip. "Did you receive a lot of attention after the incident   
in the garage? Media coverage?"

Grey's lips tightened to a thin line. "Yeah. Didn't seem to matter   
that the man I saved was little more than a vegetable. The press   
had me billed as the hero, taking on the killer with my bare hands.   
I even got a letter of commendation for it."

"A sign of success in our business--wouldn't you say?"

Grey's intense gaze shifted from Mulder's face to his injured leg.   
"I'm so sorry, Fox. I know you only came up here for me, and now   
you're stuck in this nightmare because of it."

Mulder shrugged, though the normally fluid movement looked   
stiff. "Hey, forget it. To tell you the truth, it's a refreshing change   
to have someone else be the target of the crazed killer."

Grey expelled a short puff of air and shook his head. "Gotta hand it   
to you, little brother. You always know the right thing to say."

He stood and walked into the kitchen, returning moments later   
with a glass of water and an amber bottle. At the sight of the clear   
liquid Mulder's thirst, forgotten in the distraction of Grey's story,   
returned with a vengeance. He accepted the glass and tried not to   
guzzle, watching over the rim as Grey shook two small white pills   
into his palm and extended it.

"What's that?"

"I told you, remember? Something with codeine. If it'll treat a   
migraine, I'm sure it'll take the edge off the pain in your leg."

Mulder set the glass on an end table, disconcerted by his own   
jittering fingers. "Uh...I'll pass. But if he's got some ibuprofen in   
that medicine chest, I'll take a couple."

Grey's brow furrowed. "Take the pills, Fox. I'll still consider you a   
manly man, I promise."

A firm shake of the head, accompanied by a grimace. "You don't   
get it. This has nothing to do with a fragile ego. In my present   
condition those pills will knock me out--not something I can afford   
considering our killer is out there somewhere, just waiting for the   
right opportunity to renew your acquaintance."

"You said it yourself--he's out there. And that's where he'll stay if I   
have any say in the matter. You, on the other hand, are in very   
rough shape. That leg is infected; you're already running a fever.   
Antibiotics would be real handy at this point, but we both know   
that ain't happening. So I'm going to clean and dress the wound,   
and then you're going to get some sleep. I'll keep watch for our   
friend."

"And then what? How long do you think we can just sit here,   
Grey? We have no weapons to speak of, and pretty soon it will be   
dark. Odds are, that's what he's waiting for." Mulder's voice   
trembled with anger and fatigue. "You know what has to happen.   
You just don't want to face it."

Grey's scowl deepened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The storm passed abruptly, and Mulder became very calm. "We   
know who he is, and we know what he wants. He's orchestrated   
things very carefully to get you here--isolated, weaponless, and   
hampered by my injury. We can't just hang out, waiting for him to   
play the trump card."

Grey's eyes narrowed. "I don't think I like where this is headed."

"If you get started now, you'll still have a good five hours of   
daylight. If you stay off the road, keep to the trees..."

"NO! Forget it! I'm not leaving you, Fox. You're in no shape to   
defend yourself. You'd be a sitting duck."

"Better me than us both!" Mulder leaned forward, face twisting in   
anger and pain. "I'm tired of being a liability to you. Without me,   
you can make it out of here, get help. Think, Grey. Look at this   
logically, objectively. You'll see the truth."

Grey clenched his fingers around the pills, stalked across the room.   
For a split second Mulder thought his brother was going to drive   
his fist into the wall. Instead his shoulders relaxed, and he walked   
back to sit in the chair. He bent forward, locking eyes with Mulder.

"The truth is, you're my brother, Fox. There's nothing logical or   
objective about it. So whatever happens next, we'll deal with it.   
Together."

Mulder looked away, struggling to push words past a closed throat.   
"You're crazy."

Grey leaned back. Smiled. "It's been said. Look, Dana and Kristen   
have got to suspect something is wrong by now. Knowing those   
two, I think I can say with confidence that they will track us down.   
We just have to dig in and give them time."

He stretched out his hand, the two little pills still nestled in his   
palm. "At least take one. I'll go raid Jed's medicine chest for   
something with a little less kick."

Mulder stared at the pills for a long moment before fumbling one   
to his lips with unsteady fingers. He washed it down with the   
remaining water, still evading Grey's eyes. His brother collected   
the empty glass and stood, intending to refill it.

"Grey."

The subdued voice stilled his feet, turned him back. "Yeah?"

"It's not logical for me either. That's why I wanted you to go."

Grey's mouth curved and he tipped his head in acknowledgement.   
"United we stand, little brother. The bastard doesn't have a   
chance."

Mulder's tentative nod sent him on his way.

 

Great Smoky Mountains  
Sunday  
7:18 p.m.

 

"...It took Grey twelve hours to hike back out, and another fifteen   
for the rescue workers to reach us. Mulder was in pretty bad   
condition by then--shocky, cracked ribs, a concussion. His injuries   
would have been serious enough on their own, but coupled with   
the blood loss from the original attack.... Well, he was incoherent   
for most of the trip to the hospital." Scully tightened her fingers on   
the steering wheel, peering through the windshield at the slice of   
road illuminated by headlights.

"You must have been terrified. Alone in those woods after dark,   
Mulder hurt and that...that thing just a stone's throw away."   
Kristen's voice held equal parts fascination and dismay, the voice   
of a woman witnessing a car wreck.

"I've had better nights. I wish I could say it was the first time I had   
to deal with Mulder under those conditions." Scully formed her   
lips into a hard little smile to conceal an overwhelming sensation   
of vulnerability. "I'd certainly hoped it would be the last."

Kristen gazed out the window at the dappled shadows of passing   
trees and foliage. When she eventually spoke, her voice barely   
broke the drone of the engine. "It's not your fault. Whatever has   
happened, whatever we find--there was no reason to expect it."

Scully's gaze swung to Kristen's face, the car drifting to the right   
along with her eyes. She snapped both forward, concentrating on   
the rutted, uneven stretch of road for several long minutes before   
responding.

"He didn't want to go. He joked about it--we both did--but I think   
underneath..." A sharp shake of her head and anger crept into her   
voice. "It's not surprising, really. I mean, every time the man has   
ventured into a wooded area not part of a city park system   
something terrible has happened. I don't know why I..."

Kristen's hand on her arm stopped the deluge of words.

"You did it for him. Because every hour spent hiking, or playing   
basketball, or...or even arguing who's going to win the World   
Series--each moment he and Grey can spend together--chips away   
at those thirty-seven years they were cheated." 

Kristen's fingers tightened briefly before retreating. "They needed   
this trip, Dana. Whatever has gone wrong doesn't change that."

Scully concentrated on dodging potholes, ignoring stinging eyes   
and the burn at the back of her throat. Feeling...unstrung. And just   
a bit bemused. Kristen's appearance at her door that morning,   
suitcase in hand, had taken her by surprise. Her own worries for   
Mulder and Grey, and the driving need to do something about   
them, had been single-minded in intensity. Adding another person   
to the mix, one with fears and intentions just as urgent, was a   
complication Scully had neither time nor energy for.

She'd never expected the resignation to become gratitude.

Gone was the tentative, uncertain woman she'd shared Chinese   
takeout with the previous evening. Unexpectedly calm and   
coolheaded, Kristen was revealing a keen eye for detail and a   
wickedly dry sense of humor. The former had already proved   
invaluable during their interview with Sheriff Edwards; the latter a   
welcome escape valve when the pressure became unbearable.

Scully's lips twisted in a rueful smile. The old saying about misery   
and company wasn't so far off the mark.

"Stop! I think you just passed it."

Kristen's warning tugged Scully's attention back to the road. Her   
foot reflexively hit the brake and the car jerked to a standstill, tires   
spitting gravel. She checked the rear view mirror--more from habit   
than from necessity--and carefully inched the vehicle backward to   
a break in vegetation that signaled the private drive.

Scully cranked the wheel hard to the left and jockeyed the car   
around the curve. "Sharp eyes. I completely missed it in the dark."

"Don't thank me. Officer McCullough may be a rotten investigator,   
but he draws a heck of a map."

They traveled the quarter mile or so in silence, eyes fixed straight   
ahead. When the cabin solidified out of the darkness into the   
headlights' glow, Kristen sat forward, eyes narrowed.

"No lights."

Scully pulled up behind the crippled SUV and turned off the   
engine. Her gaze moved over Grey's car, to the darkened cabin,   
and back again. "You didn't really expect them to be gathered   
around a fire toasting marshmallows--did you?"

Kristen's expression remained impassive. "Are you kidding? Give   
me some credit." She opened her door and slipped outside, then   
leaned back in, her face unusually pale in the harsh dome light.   
"Telling ghost stories, maybe. This is Mulder we're talking about."

The laugh snuck past Scully's lips before her brain could rein it in.   
She sucked in a deep breath, released the steering wheel, and   
stepped out of the car. The temperature had dropped with the sun,   
the crisp air a sharp but welcome contrast from the car's stuffy   
interior. Though the day had been fair, incoming clouds obscured   
the moon and most of the stars. Without headlights, darkness   
shrouded Grey's car, softening edges to an indistinct blur. Scully   
pulled a flashlight from her pocket and thumbed it on.

Her legs felt tight, muscles cramped with inactivity and tension.   
Evidently plagued by the same discomfort, Kristen was shuffling   
her feet, one hand propped on the hood as she pointed and flexed.   
She followed Scully in a slow tour around the SUV that ended   
beside the jacked-up rear axle.

Scully crouched down, panning the flashlight beam over the jack   
and the damaged tire that lay on the ground beside it. "There could   
be any number of causes for this. The question is, why didn't they   
fix it?"

Kristen's head popped around the rear of the vehicle. "The answer's   
right back here. The spare is flat." When Scully joined her she   
gestured with her own flashlight. The tire was still mounted on the   
tailgate. Kristen had peeled back the cover, exposing the sagging   
rubber. "It's not obvious at first because of this covering. It must   
have been a very unpleasant surprise."

"No doubt." Scully's gaze shifted from the tire to the cabin, the   
crease between her brows deepening. 

Easy enough to get a flat tire navigating roads as rough as those   
leading up to the cabin. A pothole, an especially sharp rock--even   
briefly slipping off the shoulder could cause that kind of damage.   
Nothing unusual there. Nothing to set off an alarm bell, even for   
someone as paranoid as Mulder.

"What are the odds." Kristen's soft utterance, not exactly a   
question, drew Scully's attention. She met Scully's intense stare   
without flinching. "One flat, sure. But two? And one of them brand   
new?"

Scully's tongue snaked out to moisten dry lips and her fingers   
drifted to the weapon at the small of her back. "Let's take a look   
inside." In the distance, a low rumble of thunder underscored her   
words.

The door was unlocked. Gun now in hand, Scully nudged it open   
and swept the flashlight beam across the dark room. She could   
sense Kristen at her shoulder--could feel the faint puff of the other   
woman's breath ruffle the hair at the nape of her neck. The air   
inside the cabin, only marginally warmer than outside, smelled   
faintly of coffee grounds and ashes. The slow, measured tick of a   
clock and the low hum of a generator seemed to enhance the   
stillness, rather than break it. 

Scully stepped all the way into the room and crossed to the brass   
floor lamp that stood beside the couch. Her fingers fumbled with   
the switch until a soft click and a flood of golden light signaled   
success. Kristen squinted against the abrupt shift from darkness,   
her eyes leaving Scully to scan the room. She glanced uneasily   
toward the opening at her back, closing the door firmly before   
moving into the kitchen.

The darkened bedroom caught Scully's eye. She crossed to the   
open doorway, the light from the greatroom providing sufficient   
illumination until she could locate another lamp. As officer   
McCullough had indicated, the bed gave every appearance of   
having been slept in--the pillows rumpled, the sheet and blankets   
tangled together. A pair of faded jeans was flung over a chair and   
Grey's duffelbag, familiar from his many visits, sat on the floor,   
unzipped, one sleeve of a navy thermal shirt trailing out.

Frowning, Scully left the bedroom and returned to the greatroom.   
She crossed to the fireplace and sat on the hearth, first placing her   
hand inside the opening and then fingering the cold ashes. Teeth   
sunk into her lower lip, she swiveled to face the large couch. A   
pillow and a neatly folded sleeping bag occupied one end, Mulder's   
duffel perched on top.

Scully stood and walked over to the bag. She tugged open the   
zipper and reached inside, operating on autopilot, her hands taking   
on a mind of their own. Her fingertips encountered soft cotton, and   
she pulled out the New York Mets tee Mulder slept in on cold   
nights. The sharp, twisting pain, centered somewhere between her   
heart and her gut, took Scully by surprise. Blinking hard, she   
brought the worn fabric first to her nose, then to her cheek.

"Dana?" Kristen's head popped into view, her expression   
immediately turning contrite. "Sorry. Could you come over here?"

Scully tucked the shirt back into the duffel before joining Kristen   
in the tiny kitchen. Kristen's face was oddly expressionless except   
for a slight crease between her brows. Scully quickly took in the   
short, L-shaped counter beside a small refrigerator and sink. A   
coffeemaker sat on the butcher-block surface, about an inch of   
dark brew in the glass carafe.

"Does Mulder drink coffee every morning?"

Scully's eyes jumped to Kristen's and she couldn't help the smile   
that tugged her lips upward. "Neither Mulder nor I are what you'd   
call morning people. Caffeine is a necessity."

"How does he take it?"

Scully arched an eyebrow. "How does he take it? His coffee?"   
When Kristen nodded, she continued in a voice coated with   
impatience. "Sugar, no cream. Why?"

Kristen held out a red ceramic mug bearing the inscription "Hot   
Stuff." "Officer McCullough was right about the coffee. He just   
overlooked an important detail--there's only one mug. Grey is   
every bit as addicted to his morning cup of coffee as you say   
Mulder is. Did you notice another mug around here anywhere?"

"Well...no. But I wasn't exactly looking either."

"Don't bother. You won't find one."

Scully pursed her lips, studying Kristen's face. "What are you   
trying to say?"

"Dana, someone was in this cabin last night, but I don't think it was   
Mulder or Grey. Not only are we short one mug, this coffee is   
black--I tasted it. Grey always uses creamer..."

"And Mulder adds sugar." Scully turned to gaze at the bedroom   
with narrowed eyes.

"What is it?"

"The bed is unmade, but Mulder's sleeping bag is folded up."

Kristen's response was soft, painful. "Grey's one of the neatest   
guys I've ever met. He wouldn't leave the bed unmade, Dana. I'm   
sure of it." She set the mug on the counter as if loath to continue   
touching it.

Scully met her frightened gaze without flinching. "Okay, let's go   
over what we know. They were going to drive into town Friday   
afternoon for supplies."

"And to touch base with us."

"Yes. We know they arrived safely because Grey's car is here, but   
we can't be sure when they discovered the flat tires. Suffice it to   
say, they were unable to drive into town as planned. What would   
have been their next logical move?"

Kristen's eyes went wide. "The radio! Grey told me there was a   
short wave radio for emergencies."

Both women began moving through the cabin, searching. Scully   
was the first to spy the small, rolltop desk in the corner across from   
the fireplace. She pushed back the cover, exposing the radio   
beneath.

"Here it is."

As Kristen looked on, she manipulated knobs and switches without   
success. Finally giving up, she dropped the mic and stepped back   
with a grimace. 

"I don't claim to be an expert, but I think we can safely say this   
radio is useless."

"Two flat tires and a broken radio. Factor in our mysterious third   
party, and I'm starting to see a pretty disturbing pattern."

Scully eyed Kristen sharply. "Anyone can have a run of bad luck--  
Mulder's turned it into an art form. But this is all beginning to feel   
a bit..."

"Contrived?"

"I was going to say planned. Lacking transportation or the means   
to radio for help, Mulder and Grey wouldn't be left with many   
options, would they?"

"Only two that I can think of. Sit tight and wait for someone to   
come. Or hike out, find someplace with a radio or a car." Kristen   
uttered a wobbly laugh. "Grey is the original Grizzly Adams,   
Dana. I've no doubts what he'd do."

"Nor do I. Mulder might not know a maple tree from an oak, but   
he'd never be content to stay put and do nothing. Their duffel bags   
are here, but their backpacks and hiking boots are missing. I don't   
think it's a matter of if they went, but where."

"Back to town?" But doubt laced Kristen's voice.

Scully wandered over to the window, arms folded tightly across   
her chest. "That's a twenty-five mile trip. On the other hand,   
Sheriff Edwards mentioned a neighboring cabin about ten to   
twelve miles up the road. The owner resides there year 'round."

Peripherally, she could see Kristen's head bob.

"We could take it slow and still be there in half an hour." Scully   
locked her eyes onto the indistinct strip of road leading away from   
the cabin. Leading toward Mulder.

So tempting. 

"It's raining." Kristen peered over Scully's shoulder. "The roads   
will be wet, slippery. And I guess there's the very real possibility   
that whoever brewed that cup of coffee is out there, somewhere."   
She uttered the observation in a painstakingly neutral voice.

Scully turned to face Kristen, prepared to reassure. Her impatience   
to reach Mulder had been steadily growing, inversely proportional   
to the distance between them. They were close now--she could feel   
it in her heart, in the very marrow of her bones. The prospect of   
waiting impotently at the cabin for another ten hours was   
unthinkable, and yet...

They'd be going in blind, wide open to whatever threat might be   
waiting for them. Lacking the illumination from moon and stars,   
flashlights and headlights would be indispensable--and possibly   
deadly. Blunder over the edge of a ravine or stick out like a sore   
thumb? Neither was a viable alternative.

Yes, she'd ventured into risky situations before, but usually with   
Mulder at her back. Though Kristen was an FBI agent, she lacked   
field experience. Her expertise involved a microscope, not a gun.   
Rushing headlong into the unknown with such an inexperienced   
partner could land Mulder and Grey in deeper trouble. Or worse,   
get someone killed.

Scully slowly released a breath of air. "You're right. We won't do   
them any good by driving into a ditch or stumbling into a trap.   
We'll talk out our next move and try to get some sleep. We can   
head up the mountain as soon as it's light." 

Kristen's eyes looked very large in the pale glow of the lamp.   
"Dana. What do you really think happened here?"

Scully laid her index finger under her nose, considering the   
kitchen, then the bedroom. When her gaze returned to Kristen, her   
eyes were granite. "I think they were set up. I think someone   
followed them here--maybe even got here ahead of them. I think   
they were manipulated into navigating these woods on foot in   
search of help. Possibly--though I don't like to consider it--without   
weapons."

Another long pause as Kristen absorbed her words. "And then?"

It was a question she didn't want to answer, though it had been   
foremost in her mind. Scully shook her head. "Mulder and I have   
made enemies, some powerful. It's been more than 48 hours now,   
with no contact from either of them. We both know that's not a   
good sign."

Kristen's chin came up and her jaw tightened. "I feared the worst   
when Grey was kidnapped, and again when that bomb went off at   
the hospital. He proved me wrong both times."

Scully smiled but merely tipped her head toward the door. "I'm   
going to grab our bags from the car."

"Need some help?"

"I'm fine. No sense in both of us getting wet."

Stepping into the darkness felt a little like escaping, despite the   
frigid drizzle bombarding her. Scully didn't want to squash   
Kristen's determined optimism, but she also didn't feel up to   
supporting it. Her investigator's intuition told her something bad   
had been waiting for Mulder and Grey, hiding in the trees like an   
animal stalking its prey. Had they sensed the danger?

Unlikely. 

She pictured them hiking up the road, trading insults and inane   
observations. Mulder and Grey could get into heated discussions   
on the damnedest topics. She'd once endured an hour-long   
argument over the veracity of NYPD Blue.

Scully's throat constricted and hot tears mixed with the cold rain on   
her cheeks. Odds were, they'd never seen trouble coming until it   
was too late.

A twig snapped in the bushes, startling Scully from her morose   
thoughts. A shiver worked its way up her spine like icy fingers.   
Eyes darting around the clearing, she popped the trunk and pulled   
out the two bags. The warm spill of light from the cabin windows   
beckoned her, hastening her footsteps. Kristen flung open the door   
as Scully approached, her silhouette a welcome reassurance.

She hoped Mulder was warm and dry. Prayed he was safe.

 

Peterson Cabin  
Sunday  
8:16 p.m.

 

All-encompassing darkness. It wraps itself around him like a living   
blanket, so thick he can't see his hand in front of his face. Worse   
than the darkness, though, is the death. It's everywhereóin the   
leathery skin brushing his cheeks and arms, the brittle bones that   
snap and crack beneath his boots, and the rich, sick-sweet smell of   
decay that fills his nostrils.

He crouches under the mound of inhuman corpses, sweat trickling   
between his shoulder blades, breathing in short, sharp pants. The   
rusty screech of the trap door, the thump of boots hitting the   
ground, and barked commands double his heartrate and dry his   
mouth. He becomes stone, unmoving, barely breathing. Wishing   
for Scully's presence even as he's grateful she's hundreds of miles   
away.

Calm, he thinks. Just stay calm.

Until all hell breaks loose.

A blast of sound and hot air, scattering bones like popcorn and   
singeing the small hairs at the nape of his neck. The hissing   
crackle of flames ignites a fear within him that is decades old, a   
panic he struggles to control. 

Out. Got to get out.

Tunneling through bodies, the acrid stench of fire and ash lends a   
new potency to the odor of death. Scrabbling with his fingers,   
kicking with his feet. He gulps for oxygen, finds none. The   
superheated air sears his throat and melts his lungs.

Can't think. Can't breathe.

Have to getÖ

"Öout. Gotta get out."

"Shh. Easy, Fox. Easy."

Grey refreshed the washcloth in a pan of water and resumed   
running it over Mulder's face and neck. Heat radiated from his   
brother's body like a furnace, quickly turning the cloth from cool to   
tepid. Grey didn't need a thermometer to tell him that the fever had   
grown dangerously high. Though lucid an hour previous, Mulder's   
condition had rapidly deteriorated into delirium. Wherever he'd   
gone, it wasn't a nice place.

"NoÖthe fireÖgottaÖtrappedÖ I gottaÖ" Mulder's fingers   
scratched at the cushions, his breathing harsh and labored.

"There's no fire, little brother. You're right here with me. It's just a   
dream."

Grey returned the cloth to the pan, grimacing at water already too   
warm to be effective. An image of Mulder, convulsing with fever   
caused by pneumonia and the mysterious alien virus, flashed   
vividly before his eyes. Terrifying enough in a hospital with   
trained medical personnel. If it happened hereÖ

Despite the closed blinds, darkness pressed through the cabin's   
windows, accented by the restless, grasping shadows of tree limbs   
stirred by the wind. Rain drummed a staccato beat on the roof and   
burbled in the gutters. The fire crackled and snapped on the hearth.   
And the clock on the wall kept a steady rhythm, sounding the hour   
with a mellow chime.

Sounds that should feel familiar, even comforting, instead served   
to increase Grey's gnawing uneasiness. The cabin might give the   
impression of a safe haven, a refuge from the elements and a killer,   
but that was illusion. They were trapped, virtually unarmed, and   
Fox had become a liability rather than an asset. 

Grey had never felt more alone in his life.

"Okay, Dana, what do I do?"

He uttered the question aloud, but mumbled. Slightly embarrassed.   
Mostly desperate.

Mulder's legs thrashed and he sucked in a shallow gulp of air.   
"HotÖScully, can'tÖcan'tÖ."

Grey dropped the cloth and stood, grasping his semi-conscious   
brother beneath the arms and hauling him upright. "Dana might not   
be here, but I know what she'd say. We gotta cool you down, Fox,   
and that little bowl of water sure as hell ain't doing the trick."

Mulder whimpered as Grey levered him off the cushions, his knees   
buckling and his head sagging until his chin brushed his chest.   
Grey draped his brother's arm around his own shoulders and gritted   
his teeth, struggling to manipulate one hundred and eighty odd   
pounds of nearly dead weight. Fox's body felt like a live coal, his   
overheated skin uncomfortably hot where it rested along Grey's   
side.

"Jeez, Fox. What's Dana beenÖfeeding you?"

They staggered down the hallway like two soldiers after an all-  
night drinking binge. Mulder alternated between silent passivity   
and agitated ramblings that made little or no sense. Unintelligible   
muttering, most of the words were garbled from the fever. Yet the   
few Grey could decipher left him with a prickly feeling at the back   
of his neck. Krycek. Alien. Merchandise.

Father.

They finally reached the end of the hallway. Grey propped his   
brother against the wall and reached for the bedroom doorknob,   
hesitating when his fingertips brushed the cool metal. He let his   
eyes slip shut, took a deep breath. Preparing or postponing--he   
couldn't have said which.

He shoved open the door and groped for the light switch, the other   
hand knotted in Mulder's shirt as he struggled to prevent his   
brother from sliding down the wall. The air inside the room felt   
heavy, the slightly musty fragrance of damp wood tainted by the   
underlying sick-sweet odor of decay. Grey shouldered his brother   
and steered him past the bed, wrinkling his nose and keeping his   
eyes fixed on the bathroom doorway. 

Once inside, he lowered Mulder to the closed seat of the toilet.   
Two beige bathsheets were draped over a long towel bar near the   
shower stall, and Grey was able to rustle up two more from a   
cupboard under the sink. He turned on the shower and fiddled with   
the dial until the water temperature felt lukewarm but not cold,   
absurdly grateful that Craig Peterson's plumbing was more   
sophisticated than the Preston's.

Pausing with hands on hips, Grey watched his brother teeter   
precariously to the right, eyes glassy and unfocused. "All right,   
Fox, here we go. Believe me, I don't like this any better than you."

He rolled up his sleeves, then proceeded to strip Mulder down to   
his boxers. When he slid the jeans down his brother's legs he was   
dismayed by the condition of the bullet wound. In just a matter of   
hours the surrounding skin had turned tight and inflamed, the   
wound now oozing infection.

"Dear God, Fox, no wonder you're burning up. We've got to get   
you out of here."

He hauled Mulder to his feet and wrestled him into the stall. The   
cool spray shocked his brother out of his stupor. Mulder flailed his   
arms, spluttering and choking when his struggles succeeded in   
earning him a mouthful of water. Resistance rapidly gave way to   
exhaustion and he slumped mutely in Grey's hold.

After ten minutes Mulder's skin had noticeably cooled and he was   
able to stand mostly on his own, leaning heavily against the tile   
wall. Grey's arms quivered with fatigue and the abused muscles in   
his back voiced their protest by tightening into painful spasms. He   
turned off the water and wrapped two of the towels around his   
brother. Mulder allowed himself to be guided back to his seat on   
the toilet, where he huddled, shivering.

Grey glanced down at his own drenched shirt with a grimace. He   
peeled it off and added it to the pile of discarded clothing, helping   
himself to another of the large towels. Once he'd dried off, he   
draped it around his neck and crouched down in front of his   
brother. 

"How are you doing? You gonna be all right while I try to find us a   
change of clothes?"

Mulder's dark hair clung to his skull, accentuating the pale, nearly   
translucent hue of his skin. Water droplets trailed like tears down   
his cheeks and pain had etched lines around his mouth. To Grey's   
intense relief, however, his brother met his gaze, clear-eyed.

"Something in flannel," he croaked. "'S what all well-dressed   
hermits are wearing."

"I'll keep that in mind." Unreasonably reassured by the sarcasm.   
"You just concentrate on staying vertical."

It got him a long-suffering roll of the eyes that left him chuckling   
softly. 

Grey searched the bedroom quickly, rifling through the closet and   
pawing through drawers. Always mindful of the dead man at his   
back, a constant prickling between his shoulder blades. Two   
sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants. A bit large--Chris was a   
jumbo-sized hermit--but they he figured Fox could manage. 

Back in the bathroom he found Mulder had removed the wet   
bandage from his leg and was staring at the wound with horrified   
fascination. 

Grey handed his brother the clothing. "The latest in high fashion."   
He pulled on the second sweatshirt, then began removing bandages   
and antiseptic from the medicine chest.

"Green Bay? You've got to be kidding."

Grey favored him with a raised eyebrow. "Hey, it's warm and it's   
dry. Would you rather have the Chicago Cubs?" Gestured to his   
own shirt.

"God, no." Mulder struggled into the sweatshirt, lip curled. "If it   
looks like I'm going to die, please take this off."

"That's not funny."

"You're telling me. Not bad enough we're stuck with a dead hermit;   
we have to wind up with a dead hermit who has terrible taste in   
sports teams."

"You must be feeling better. You've got your smart mouth back."

"Yeah." Wearily. "I feel just peachy."

Grey rebandaged the wound without further comment. The routine   
was becoming painfully familiar to them both--Grey doing his best   
to be gentle but thorough; Mulder striving to cooperate by holding   
still. Once he'd slathered on antibiotic cream and swathed the leg   
in gauze, Grey sat back on his heels.

"Need some help with those pants?"

A sharp shake of the head, and Mulder discarded the wet towel and   
boxers, working the soft fleece up to his waist. Even tightly   
cinched the pants were almost comically large, riding low on his   
hips and pooling around his ankles. He endeavored to tie the   
drawstring with trembling fingers, swaying on his feet. 

Grey grabbed hold of his arm, steadying him. "Whoa! Easy, Fox.   
Sit down."

Mulder yielded, unconsciously leaning into Grey's solid support.   
He curled forward, forearms braced on thighs, and closed his eyes.   
Concentrated on his breathing and waited for the dizziness to pass.   
"JustÖjust give me a minute."

"Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

It struck a nerve, sparked an abrupt, irrational flare of temper.   
Mulder's head came up, his eyes overbright. "You should. Screw   
this, Grey! You ought to hike out, go for help. We both know you   
could make it without me slowing you down. The only reason   
you've stayed is to play nursemaid. I'm not helpless, damn it; I'll be   
all right."

The words, meant to be determined and forceful, sounded as   
fragile as dry leaves in a strong wind. Grey didn't react to the fury   
in his brother's voice. He crouched down until they were eye to   
eye, hands clasped loosely between his knees. When he spoke, his   
voice held a mixture of irritation and compassion.

"I'm gonna say this one more time, and then I don't expect you to   
bring the subject up again. I'm not going to leave you, Fox. Not to   
get help, and sure as hell not to save my own skin. I understand   
why you think I will--why you've come to expect it. But those days   
are gone, little brother. I'm not Samantha, or Pheobe, orÖor   
Diana." Softer. "And I'm not Bill or Teena. I'm here now. And I'm   
here to stay. Okay?"

Mulder blinked, his eyes cutting away to fix on the darkened   
bedroom. "IÖyeah."

"Glad we got that settled." Grey laid a hand briefly on his leg,   
stood. "You about ready to head back to the couch? I've seen about   
all I care to of this bathroom."

It earned him a phantom smile, not much more than a flicker at the   
corners of Mulder's mouth. "I'm ready."

They were halfway across the bedroom when Mulder's feet began   
to drag and Grey noticed him staring at the shrouded figure on the   
bed. "Fox? What is it?"

"Just trying to seeÖJed--was he a big man?"

Grey frowned at the effortful sound of his brother's voice; chose   
not to comment on it. "You gotta ask? Those sweats make you   
look like a kid playing dress up." When Mulder didn't respond,   
Grey tugged him forward. "Come on, Fox. You look ready to fall   
on your face, and it's getting to the point where I'm not sure I could   
stop you. You're no lightweight, you know."

"Sorry."

Grey regretted the sharpness of his words when he felt his brother   
struggling to bear more of his own weight. "Why?" Softer. An   
apology without apologizing.

"Why what?"

He held onto patience--barely. "Why did you ask how big Peterson   
was? What difference does it make?"

"BecauseÖ Hold up a minute."

Grey leaned against the wall, waiting for Fox to catch his breath.   
From the pinched look around his brother's eyes and mouth, the   
pain had to be bad. Very bad.

"If he's a big manÖmeans he'd be hard to overpower." Mulder   
swallowed; licked dry lips. "Stands to reasonÖhe wouldn't go   
downÖwithout a fight."

Grey's brow furrowed. "Not much evidence of a struggle."

"Just what IÖwas thinking."

And then he got it--saw where his brother was headed. "You   
thinkÖ You think Peterson *knew* him?"

One shoulder lifted. "'S possible." But his face said that was   
exactly what Mulder thought.

Grey stared at his brother for a long moment before tightening his   
hold and resuming the trek to the family room. "I don't know, Fox.   
What you're suggesting makes sense--in an odd sort of way--but   
IÖ"

Grey stumbled back a step. Nearly dropped his brother in a   
reflexive grab for a gun that wasn't there. Froze.

A man on the couch. Dark hair slick from the rain, mud-caked   
boots. One arm casually slung across the cushions. The other   
extended, fingers curled around a gun aimed at Grey's head. 

"Well, don't just stand there. Come on in, sit down. I was   
beginning to think you two died back there." A shark's grin. "But   
that would be just a little premature, wouldn't it?"

 

Peterson Cabin  
Sunday  
10:02 p.m.

 

Mulder sensed a subtle shift in his brother's posture as Grey   
tightened his grasp on the arm slung across his shoulders. At the   
same time he released his hold on Mulder's waist, allowing his left   
arm to drop behind the shield of their bodies. Slowly, discreetly   
inching his fingers toward his back pocket. Grey's face smoothed   
into a blank mask as he tipped his head toward his brother and   
arched an eyebrow.

"I don't remember hearing the doorbell, do you?"

"No. Of course...I don't remember...inviting anyone in, either." His   
tissue paper voice was a far cry from the glib, breezy tone Mulder   
had hoped for, but it would have to do.

Their intruder raised his free hand, idly spinning a keyring around   
the index finger. "No invitation necessary. I picked these up when I   
stopped by earlier." His smile widened but his eyes went flat as he   
rose slowly to his feet. "And Detective McKenzie? When you've   
finally located whatever it is you're searching for in your back   
pocket, you can put it right over here on the table."

Grey stiffened, anger turning his muscles rigid. Mulder dropped   
his head, turning his face away from the killer. "Not now," he said,   
sotto voce. "He's holding all the cards."

Grey yanked an object from his pocket and tossed it onto the   
coffee table. A Swiss Army knife, the one he kept in his pack. He   
bared his teeth in an insincere smile.

"Anything else I can get you? Coffee? Tea? Mothballs?"

The killer's face contorted into a snarl and his finger tightened on   
the trigger. He seemed to catch himself, consciously pushing aside   
anger as his expression smoothed and he gestured casually with the   
gun. "Take a seat. Our boy Fox, there, looks like he's about to keel   
over."

Grey had already begun moving Mulder toward the couch. The   
killer's words hit him like a verbal slap, and his feet momentarily   
tangled up with his brother's. Mulder's soft grunt of discomfort   
regained his attention.

"Sorry," he murmured, lowering Mulder carefully. "You okay?"   
He watched his brother lose the battle to remain upright, his head   
flopping back onto the cushions. 

Mulder's eyes, the only bit of color in his face, blinked lazily and   
his tongue swiped at dry lips. "You're kidding...right?"

Grey straightened and turned. "Look, whoever you are--I want to   
get one thing straight. I don't know how you tracked us here or   
figured out my brother's name, but any grudge, any unfinished   
business, is between you and me. Leave Fox out of it."

The killer circled slowly until he was standing directly opposite   
Mulder and Grey. "No, you get something straight, Mr. Bigshot   
Hero. In case you haven't noticed, you're in no position to give   
orders. Now shut the hell up and sit down or the next bullet's going   
right between your brother's eyes."

The threat, backed by the cold fury in the killer's eyes, effectively   
extinguished Grey's defiance. He dropped down beside Mulder,   
lips compressed to a thin line.

"You know, I'm hurt." The killer pocketed Grey's knife and then   
strolled over to perch on the arm of a chair. "I know I don't exactly   
have the most memorable face, but I still thought you'd've   
recognized me by now." His lip curled. "Detective."

"I don't know what the heck you're..." Grey's voice faded away, his   
eyes widening in astonishment as he scrutinized the killer.   
Shoulder-length dark hair caught into a ponytail at the nape of his   
neck. Brown eyes, a long, thin nose, and the mouth... "Wait a   
minute, I...oh, my god."

Mulder's gaze darted to his brother's face. "Grey?"

Grey was slowly shaking his head, oblivious to the anxiety in   
Mulder's voice. Tension crackled in the air as he and the killer   
continued to lock eyes. "You...you're.... Jake?"

"Aw, you do remember. I'm touched."

All the color drained from Grey's face and his left hand clutched   
the arm of the couch in a white-knuckled grip. "B...but...that's   
impossible. That can't be."

Mulder frowned at the stutter. In the space between one breath and   
the next, the killer's revelation had transformed Grey from cool   
professional to bewildered child. Mulder pushed back his own pain   
and fatigue, leaning forward to lay a calming hand on his brother's   
shoulder while turning studiously neutral eyes on the killer.

"So. I take it you two know each other."

The killer laughed--a harsh, humorless sound sharp enough to draw   
blood. "We've crossed paths once or twice, nothing earth   
shattering. But we do share a bond that's much more...intimate."

Grey seemed to get hold of himself, regaining a bit of his   
composure. "Where are my manners? Fox, this is Jake Preston."

Mulder stared at his brother for what seemed like an eternity while   
his sluggish brain tried to process the significance of the name.   
When synapses finally fired and the connection became clear, he   
knew his own face probably looked nearly as shell-shocked as   
Grey's.

"Preston? As in...Mark Preston? Your partner?"

Jake grinned toothily. "We're cousins. There's a family   
resemblance--don't you think?"

"You're responsible for this? For Peterson?" 

Jake's smile flattened out and he stared at Grey. A slow, deliberate   
nod.

"Brandmeier? Feeney? All the others?"

"All except the good doctor. And we know whose fault that was,   
don't we? I have to say, I was sweating that night. I thought sure   
you'd seen my face and would eventually realize who I was."

Mulder felt the tremors thrumming through Grey like electrical   
current. He tightened his fingers on his brother's shoulder, a subtle   
reminder of both support and warning. Grey shrugged it off, his   
teeth clenched.

"Why? Why would you do it--to them, to your cousin? Innocent   
people who never..."

"No one is innocent, Detective! We all have our debts to pay, even   
those of you who've been handed life on a silver platter.   
Everyone's marker gets called in eventually."

"That's how you attempt to justify cold blooded murder? As some   
kind of...of cosmic reckoning with you working the scales? Is the   
dead man lying in that bedroom supposed to be your twisted idea   
of justice?"

Jake leaned forward, arms crossed so that the gun rested easily in   
the crook of his elbow. "What would you know about justice,   
McKenzie? You and Mark, you're exactly alike. It's easy to be self-  
righteous when you're standing on the mountaintop. Try slogging   
through the mud with the rest of us before you pass judgement."

Grey sucked in a sharp breath and his face went very still. "It's no   
coincidence, is it, you killing those people on our beat? This is just   
as much about Mark as it is about them."

Jake's eyes narrowed. "I had a job to do. If it happened to impact   
my cousin, to shake up his picture perfect life, well, so be it."

"That's bullshit! He's been good to you, gone out of his way to try   
and help. I know for a fact that he hired you to do landscaping and   
yard work for him when you couldn't find a job anywhere else."

"Spare me the guilt trip! My saintly cousin is nothing more than   
the favored son of a favored son. A twist of fate is all that separates   
us--our positions could just as easily have been reversed."

Grey's hands curled into fists, his body a tightly coiled spring.   
Mulder dug his fingers into his brother's shoulder, speaking over   
the resulting grunt of pain.

"How so?"

Jake's gaze jerked from Grey and he seemed to really look at   
Mulder for the first time. "What's this? Some kind of game to keep   
me talking?"

Mulder returned his stare, face guileless. "You keep harping   
about...fate and justice. I assumed you...want us to understand."

Jake studied his face for a moment, then smiled--the barest curve at   
the corners of his mouth. "All right. I'll play." He leaned back, feet   
casually crossed at the ankles. "It's an old story, really. My father   
was one of two sons born to a poor family in rural West Virginia.   
My grandfather, Lucas, was one in a long line of Prestons to work   
the mines--backbreaking, thankless work for minimum wage that   
destroyed your body until you were old before your time. But   
Lucas was different, a dreamer, determined for his children to have   
a better life." Jake's lip curled. "One of them, anyway."

"I'm guessing it...wasn't your father."

Grey frowned at the heat from the hand on his shoulder and the   
tremor in his brother's voice, but held his tongue. 

"My father, Benjamin, was the oldest. From a very young age he   
was expected to be the second man of the house, responsible for a   
lot of the chores his father couldn't do after a twelve-hour shift in   
the mine. That included helping his mother take care of his brother   
and two sisters. 

"He loved school--maybe because it was the only time he had for   
himself--but he studied hard and earned good grades. He knew an   
education was his only chance, his ticket out of the mines. And that   
was the last place he wanted to wind up.

"But when he was fifteen, my grandfather got sick. Black Lung.   
Within six months the old man couldn't work at all, and there   
wasn't enough food on the table. Three weeks before his sixteenth   
birthday, my father quit school and went to work in the mines. He   
had no choice."

Grey made a small noise in his throat and Jake glowered at him.   
"What?"

Grey scowled back. "I've heard this story. Mark's dad remembers it   
well."

"Really? Did he tell you the rest? That when my grandfather died a   
year later, he left the little bit of insurance money that remained   
after the burial to his younger son, Jonathan?" Jake bared his teeth.   
"My father spent the next twenty years of his life at the bottom of a   
hole, eating coal dust, so Mark's could go to college. How's that for   
justice?"

"Is that your father talking? Or you?" Mulder asked. "Seems to   
me...it's not your bitterness...to carry."

"Oh, but you're wrong. My grandfather's...tunnel vision concerning   
his younger son resulted in more than just a college diploma for   
Mark's dad. Pop quiz, Mr. FBI. One brother earns a degree in   
mathematics and winds up working as a CPA at a respected   
accounting firm. The other quits high school for a manual labor   
job, crawls into a bottle and never comes out." Jake tipped his   
head, sarcasm dripping from his words. "They each have a son.   
Which winds up the detective? And which one the detective's   
gardener?"

Jake lurched to his feet, pacing back and forth with the gun tapping   
restlessly against his thigh. "I always knew I deserved better than   
what my father got. Yeah, the only way I'd go to college would be   
on my own dime, but I had that covered. I never had the highest   
GPA, but hand me a football and I could work magic. By my   
senior year I had a scholarship to WVU in the bag." 

He chuckled, a harsh, jagged sound. "Second to the last game of   
the season, we're losing by six points, and I make a 40 yard run for   
the goal before they take me down. A hit from the left, another   
from the right, and my knee just...popped." Jake stopped pacing,   
expression blank, focus turned inward. "Sixty seconds and both my   
football career and my life were over. All my plans, dreams...I had   
to pack them away along with my jersey."

"In mothballs."

Mulder's soft rasp drew Jake's glare. "Yeah. Now you're getting the   
picture. I deserved that scholarship; deserved the chance my father   
was denied. If it wasn't for that injury I'd be making big bucks by   
now, hiring a gardener not being one. Instead, I had to sit back and   
watch while my classmates, kids I could think circles around, went   
off to school, graduated, and began successful careers."

Jake's eyes went distant, his expression a mixture of pride and   
vindication. "They took what should have been mine. Everything I   
fought for, worked so hard to achieve, was handed to them on a   
silver platter. And with every stroke of the knife, with every drop   
of their blood I spill, I take another piece of it back."

Mulder slowly shook his head. "You view success like a jealous   
lover. If you can't have it, no one can."

A predatory smile spread slowly across Jake's face. "Well, well,   
well. You actually live up to your reputation. Mark said your   
brother's always telling him what a genius you are. That you used   
to be the FBI's boy wonder, catching killers who had everyone else   
chasing their tails by figuring out how they think."

"Is that how you knew I was coming up here?" Grey cut in, voice   
low, rigid. "You pumped Mark for information?"

"He might have mentioned it." Jake's grin never touched his eyes.   
"And it's amazing what you can overhear while trimming bushes   
under an open window."

"Then you also had to have realized that I wouldn't be alone. That   
Fox would be with me."

"Realized? I counted on it. The dead fox was a nice touch, don't   
you think?" He chuffed at Grey's incredulous stare. "You're a cop,   
not some high school teacher. Alone you were twice as dangerous.   
You needed a handicap."

"And I thought...Spooky was insulting," Mulder muttered.

Grey threw him a quelling look. "I meant what I said, Jake. This is   
between you and me. I want you to leave Fox out of it."

"And I meant what I said. You aren't in control, I am."

Mulder snorted derisively and Jake rounded on him. "You think   
this is funny?"

Mulder pressed a shaky hand to his chest, widened his eyes   
theatrically. "Me? No, I don't think you're funny." He waited a   
beat, then added, "I think you're pathetic."

Color crept up Jake's neck until his whole face flushed, and he   
went very still. "Pathetic?" He ground the word between his teeth   
like chewing a bone.

Grey tensed, alarmed that his brother had inadvertently provoked   
their captor. Until Mulder's fingers squeezed his shoulder and he   
caught a gleam of satisfaction in his brother's eye, the truth hitting   
him like a sucker punch. Mulder's needling was calculated,   
deliberate. Grey swallowed thickly and waited.

"Yeah, pathetic. All of you are. Remember...I used to catch   
dirtbags like you...for a living. You're all the same...think you're   
Manson, Bundy, and Hannibal Lecter rolled into one. Superkiller."   
He laughed.

Jake lifted the gun, his finger twitching on the trigger. "You won't   
think it's so funny when I add another hole to your head."

"Fox..."

Mulder waved Grey off, his brief glare communicating his   
intentions as clearly as words. Wait. Be ready.

"Oh, come on," he said to Jake, laughter still lingering in the smirk   
twisting his lips. "You're a smart guy...right? Surely you...can see   
the irony. You think you've got control...'cause you wave around a   
gun...when the truth is...you're powerless. You're enslaved by...the   
sick compulsion...to kill. You get away with it...but you keep   
coming back. Eventually...your own weakness...will get you   
caught. It already...almost did." 

As Mulder spoke, Jake's breathing had accelerated to short, sharp   
pants nearly as effortful as his own respiration. Every muscle in the   
killer's body seemed wired, like a cat poised to pounce.

"You don't know what you're talking about. I've planned every   
move I've made. I've run circles around you both, you never knew   
what hit you." He jerked a thumb at Grey, nearly vibrating with   
anger. "Him catching me with the doctor in that parking garage   
was just dumb luck."

Mulder braced himself, licking his dry lips and forcing another   
chuckle. "It was dumb all right. Told you...you're just like all the   
rest."

The jab found its mark. Jake launched himself at Mulder with a   
growl, the gun nearly forgotten in his rage. Mulder had just enough   
time to choke out, "Grey, now!" before the killer seized him by the   
throat and dragged him to his feet.

A fierce but eerily silent struggle commenced as Mulder fought to   
break Jake's grip while Grey wrestled him for the gun. As Grey   
clutched Jake's wrist with both hands, desperately searching for the   
pressure point that would compel him to drop the weapon, the gun   
swung wildly--first toward Grey, then Jake, and finally discharging   
harmlessly into the ceiling. Now cursing, the killer tightened his   
fingers around Mulder's throat until a high pitched whine filled his   
ears and black dots obscured his vision. His eyelids fluttered and   
his arms fell loosely to his sides.

Grey ground his foot onto Jake's and shoved, momentarily   
throwing the killer off balance. Before he could press his   
advantage, however, he sensed his brother's stillness. He turned,   
terrified to see Mulder hanging limply in Jake's grasp, lips blue.   
The split-second distraction was all Jake needed. He flung Mulder   
onto the couch like a rag doll and brought his fist around in a hard   
blow just under Grey's ribs. All the air whooshed out of Grey's   
lungs and he reflexively released Jake's wrist, tumbling back down   
onto the couch beside his coughing, gasping brother.

Snarling, Jake backhanded Grey with the barrel of the gun,   
splitting his lip and smashing his cheekbone. He then grabbed the   
semi-conscious Mulder by the hair and jammed the weapon up   
under his chin.

"You stupid son of a bitch! I oughta waste him right now. Is that   
what you want? Huh?"

Grey struggled to remain conscious, spitting and gagging on the   
blood that flooded his mouth. "No! Jake, don't!" Tears, whether   
from pain or fear, blurred his vision, trickled unheeded down his   
cheeks. "Please."

The broken, pleading tone mollified Jake. "You try something   
stupid like that again and..."

"I won't. I swear I'll cooperate. Just...just don't hurt him."

Jake smiled, relaxed. "That's more like it. Stand up. Turn around   
and put your hands behind your back."

Grey obeyed, wincing when cold steel bit his wrists. He watched   
his brother laboriously haul himself upright. The violent coughing   
had tapered off, but Fox still gulped for air in wheezing pants and   
the flesh under his chin had already begun to darken in angry,   
finger-shaped bruises.

"What now?" Grey asked, hating the defeat in his voice. He tried to   
rally. "You know, you've made your point; you outsmarted us.   
We're overdue checking in; it's just a matter of time before   
someone comes looking for us. Fox's partner and another agent   
from the Bureau are probably already on their way. If you cleared   
out now..."

"Partner? His wife, you mean." Grey didn't have to see Jake's face   
to detect the disdain. "A woman. I think I'll take my chances." He   
grabbed Grey above his right elbow and spun him around. "We're   
gonna take a little trip, a walk down memory lane. Back to the   
beginning, to where it all went wrong."

"What about Fox?"

"In his condition he'd only slow us down. He stays right here. Only   
question is whether or not I put him out of his misery before we   
go."

It took every ounce of strength Grey possessed to suppress his   
emotions. "If you let him live, I'll do whatever you want. You kill   
him, and I've got nothing left to lose."

"No!" Mulder's hoarse cry startled them both. "Grey, you can't..."   
His protest was cut off by another round of coughing.

"Shut up, Fox." In contrast to the words, Grey's tone was gentle.   
He looked back at Jake. "Well?"

Jake's eyes darted between the two brothers. "You're forgetting   
again," he told Grey, gesturing to the gun. But there was more   
amusement than anger in his demeanor as he watched Mulder   
struggling to stand. "All right. But I swear, you give me any   
trouble and I'll waste you on the spot, then come back for him.   
Understand?"

"Yeah." Grey blinked, jaw clenched, and looked down at his   
brother. "Now give me a minute, okay?"

Jake looked ready to argue but shrugged instead, stepping back a   
few paces but keeping the gun trained on them both. "Make it   
quick."

Grey carefully sat down on the coffee table, facing his brother.   
Mulder shook his head, his pale face showing equal parts distress   
and anger.

"Don't you do this...don't you dare do this. You can't...trade your   
life for mine. I won't let you."

Grey leaned forward, wishing desperately he could lay a calming   
hand on his brother's leg. Fox was trembling and it was obvious he   
was very close to complete collapse. "It's not your decision to   
make, Fox. You were never supposed to be a part of this equation.   
I'm taking you out of it. Now."

Mulder stared at him, eyes glazed with fever and tears, lip   
trembling. Before Grey knew what had happened his brother's fists   
were knotted in his shirt with an adrenaline-fueled grip.

"You promised me, you bastard! You promised you'd never leave   
me, said you were here to stay. You got me to trust you--damn it,   
you made me believe." His voice cracked and the tears spilled   
over. "Grey, please don't..."

Grey tipped his forehead down to rest against his brother's and   
fought to squeeze words past the chokehold of grief. "Whatever   
happens, however this ends, I will still be with you, little brother.   
Remember that. 'Cause if I find out you're blaming yourself for this   
I'll find some way to kick your ass."

"No. I won't let you...I won't..." Mulder tightened his grip, past the   
point of reason.

A grunt of impatience, several quick footsteps, and Jake was   
between them. "Let him go."

Mulder's face instantly transformed from anguish to rage. "No.   
You let him go...or else take me, too."

"Oh, for..." 

Jake drew back his foot and kicked Mulder's injured leg. Mulder   
shrieked, his eyes rolling back in his head as he slid to the floor.

"No!" Grey lunged against the hand that snagged him by the arm   
until the muzzle of the gun nudged his temple. He froze, shivering,   
as he was forced to listen to his brother's incoherent moans.

"Are we finished now?"

The implication was clear. Leave Fox, or watch Jake shoot him   
where he lay. Grey's shoulders slumped and he nodded, squeezing   
his eyes shut.

"Let's go."

 

Preston Cabin  
Monday  
2:43 a.m.

 

Scully slipped out of the sleeping bag and walked to the window,   
oblivious to the shock of the cold floorboards on her bare feet. The   
worst of the downpour had passed, tapering off to light drizzle, but   
heavy clouds still obscured moon and most of the stars. She laced   
her arms tightly across her chest and watched leaves skitter wildly   
across the dark, rain-drenched earth. And remembered...

A quiet evening at her apartment just after they'd returned from   
Antarctica. Both jetlagged and bearing marks from their ordeal--  
physical and emotional. They'd been watching a terrible B movie   
that Mulder had insisted was a classic, munching popcorn and   
sipping cider.

She'd turned, prepared to offer a scathing comparison of the lead   
actress's bra size and IQ, only to be derailed by the sight of the   
still inflamed gash along Mulder's temple. A gash she'd mistakenly   
assumed he'd acquired while they were making their escape, until   
Frohike had set her straight.

A bullet to the head. Glancing off his thick skull rather than   
penetrating it. Just a slight alteration in trajectory and it would   
have meant the end. The only thing more amazing than Mulder's   
luck was that he'd completely disregarded the seriousness of his   
injury, journeying halfway around the world to find her.

Mulder had turned, then, and caught her looking. He'd waggled   
his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. "Hey, Scully. See something   
you like?"

"Why didn't you tell me you'd been shot?'

His expression went still, guarded. "Well, I was kind of busy, for a   
while--you know, dodging those aliens you don't believe in on that   
ship you didn't see. Not that you were in any shape to listen."

"Mulder..." She'd traced the wound with a feather-light fingertip,   
pleased when he shivered but didn't pull away. "You belonged in a   
hospital, under observation, not chasing after me. If there had   
been a slow bleed, some other complication..."

He'd gently encircled her wrist and lowered her hand, lacing their   
fingers together. "Scully, I will always come after you when you   
need me. Doesn't matter how far I have to travel, or how many   
roadblocks they throw in my way. As long as I can still draw   
breath, I won't quit until I find you."

She'd squeezed his hand, struggling to clear her tear-clogged   
throat. "Guess those rumors are true. You are crazy."

His answering chuckle warmed her to her toes. "Nope. Just your   
partner."

Scully pressed her palm to the cold glass, blinded by a sudden rush   
of tears. He'd come for her--crossing a frozen wasteland to enter a   
real-life chamber of horrors, all while sporting what could have   
been a fatal head injury.

Why in God's name was she still standing here?

"Can't sleep?"

Scully stiffened at Kristen's soft query, blinking hard and brushing   
at stray tears with trembling fingers. "Not for lack of trying," she   
answered without taking her eyes from the window. "You?"

"I'm intimately acquainted with every lump in that mattress."

Scully took a deep breath, drew herself up to her full height--such   
as it was--and turned. "Look, Kristen, I know what I said about not   
rushing in half-cocked, but..." She trailed off, staring.

Kristen stood in front of the fireplace, fully clothed, right down to   
her hiking boots. She lifted an eyebrow. "You were about to   
say...?"

Scully couldn't manage a smile. "Nothing's changed, you know.   
All those reasons for waiting until morning are still valid."

Kristen inclined her head. "So, are you getting dressed, or what?"   
When Scully still hesitated she plunged ahead. "Look, Dana, I   
know I'm not the person you'd choose to have at your back right   
now. But I'm all you've got. And I, for one, can't stand another   
minute of staring at the ceiling while my imagination runs horror   
movies of what might be happening to Grey and Mulder."

"I know, I'm seeing them, too." Scully paused, taking in the folded   
arms, furrowed brow, and determined set to Kristen's mouth. "I'm   
afraid of what we might find up there. And frankly, I'm not   
convinced you're ready for it."

Kristen's chin came up. "I have to be."

Out of arguments, Scully scooped up her overnight bag and headed   
for the bedroom to dress. Five minutes later she emerged to find   
Kristen had usurped her place at the window. Unobserved, Scully   
studied her face, reading the anxiety and doubt that Kristen   
normally concealed.

"Ready?"

Her soft question brought up Kristen's guard, her expression   
shifting from apprehensive to resolute. "Definitely."

Wind whistled through the tree branches and drove a fine, cold   
mist into their faces as they made their way to the car. Scully   
reached for the driver's door, halted by a hand on her arm.

"Let me drive. You can ride shotgun--literally." Kristen raised her   
voice to be heard above the storm.

Scully hesitated, then pressed the keys into Kristen's outstretched   
hand and circled around to the passenger side of the car. The   
interior, though frigid, provided a blessed relief from the bitter bite   
of the wind. Kristen cranked up the heater and navigated down the   
dark, rutted drive, fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel, lip   
caught between her teeth.

Twenty minutes later, after multiple skids--one that nearly sent the   
car into a deep ravine bordering the road--both women were   
hunched forward, eyes straining to peer through the misty   
darkness.

"I never realized what a great invention street lights are. I...hold   
on!"

Scully clutched the dashboard, stifling a gasp as Kristen wrenched   
the steering wheel hard to the left in a desperate attempt to avoid a   
downed tree. Tires squealed protest, the car sliding dangerously   
close to a plunge off the shoulder before regaining traction. Kristen   
brought the vehicle to a complete stop, her face white.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. That was quite a save. Where'd you learn to drive like   
that?"

Kristen brought one trembling hand up to tuck a strand of hair   
behind her ear. "Older brother. Lots of speeding tickets."

"Remind me to thank him, if I ever..." Scully leaned even farther   
forward, eyes squinted against the glare from the headlights.   
"Kristen, up ahead on the right. Is that...?" She pointed to a break   
in the trees about five feet down the road.

Kristen followed Scully's finger with her eyes. "It looks like a   
drive. That must be it!" She stepped on the gas, inching the car   
forward and then right, down the narrow gravel lane. 

"Pull over and park. We'll walk from here."

Kristen jockeyed the car to the edge of the driveway beneath the   
large, overhanging bow of a tree. She turned off headlights and   
engine, immersing them in darkness. Without the mechanical   
rumble for competition, the wail of the wind sounded louder, more   
savage. Scully touched the gun snugged in the waistband of her   
jeans--a reflexive need for reassurance--and opened her door.

They hadn't walked more than thirty paces when a large,   
motionless mass, sprawled by the side of the drive, appeared out of   
the darkness at the edge of Scully's flashlight beam. She jerked to a   
stop, heart hammering, and slowly adjusted the light to focus   
directly on the form. Her breath caught in her chest and she darted   
forward with a low cry.

"Mulder!"

She knelt beside him, only vaguely aware of Kristen at her back,   
taking the flashlight from her limp fingers. He lay on his stomach,   
face pressed into the mud, arms curled beneath his body--as if he'd   
been trying to get to his feet, right up until the moment he'd lost   
consciousness. He was drenched, dark hair plastered to his skull,   
the waterlogged sweats clinging to his body.

Scully began running her hands over him, beginning with his arms   
and working her way downward, checking for broken bones.   
"Mulder? Mulder, it's me. Wake up for me now, okay?"

"Where's Grey? Why isn't he with Grey?" Kristen's voice was   
ragged and the flashlight wavered in her grasp. She stood and   
began panning the beam in a circle.

"Kristen, get that light back here! I need it."

Kristen obeyed, but her gaze continued to dart around the area.   
When Scully reached Mulder's right knee, he moaned, fingers   
scrabbling at the dirt. Scully pulled her hand back and stared at the   
flash of red, then gently probed the area a second time. 

"His leg is injured--a gunshot, I think." Her steady voice couldn't   
disguise the alarm in her eyes. "I'm going to turn him over."

As gentle as she tried to be, Mulder groaned when she rolled him   
to his back, a low, animal cry of pain. 

Kristen gasped. "Oh, my God. Look at his neck."

The finger-shaped bruises had turned a livid purple, contrasting   
starkly with the milky skin of Mulder's throat. He sucked in a   
shallow gulp of air, eyelids fluttering.

"Mulder?" Scully ran her knuckles over his cheek and pinched his   
earlobe. "Come on, Mulder, wake up."

His hand swatted ineffectually at hers and his eyelids cracked open   
to reveal cloudy hazel. "Scu...llee?"

"Right on the first try." Scully tried to shield him with her body as   
a vicious gust of wind drove the drizzle into his upturned face.

His forehead scrunched. "I don't...where...?" He tried to move,   
stiffened, eyes slamming shut. "Hurts."

Fortunately, whoever had loaned Mulder the sweats must have   
been twice his size. Scully worked the right pants leg up past his   
knee, exposing the blood-soaked bandage. She grimaced.

"Looks like you've got quite an injury to your right leg. What   
happened?"

Mulder's eyes opened but they were vague and unfocused.   
"I...Scully, where...why 'm I on the ground?" His voice, faint to   
begin with, quickly deteriorated to a breathy rasp.

Kristen, nearly vibrating with impatience, leaned in to hiss, "Dana,   
for God's sake, ask him where Grey is!"

Scully turned on her, voice pitched low but hard as steel. "He's   
barely coherent. If we push too hard he'll just become more   
confused." She stroked a lock of dripping hair back from Mulder's   
face. "You're in the mountains, remember? You came up here to do   
a little camping with..."

"Grey!" Mulder's eyes flew open wide and he began struggling to   
sit up, oblivious to any pain in his leg. "Can't let him...I can't...gotta   
stop..." 

Scully held him down, hands planted on his shoulders. "Mulder, be   
still! You'll increase the bleeding."

To her relief, he complied. Yet his fingers plucked at her jacket   
and he continued to plead with her, words and phrases that seemed   
little more than gibberish.

"Killed Jed...shot me. 'S gonna kill Grey. Said he wouldn't   
leave...promised...but he's...he's gone, Scully. Gotta...gotta..." His   
voice dropped to a mumble, snatched and scattered by the wind.

"Where's Grey, Mulder? Is he up at the cabin? Who's going to kill   
him?"

"Took him away. Back to the beginning."

"This isn't getting us anywhere. I'm going up to the cabin."   
Kristen's attempt to stand was pulled up short when Scully snagged   
her wrist in an iron grip.

"Wait! You can't go alone and unarmed into what could likely be a   
hostage situation. Help me get Mulder into the car and we'll go   
together."

Kristen gritted her teeth, obviously chafing under the delay, but   
helped Scully drag Mulder upright so they could each slip an arm   
over their shoulders. Maneuvering him over to the car and then   
loading him into the back would have been difficult under the best   
circumstances--the buffeting wind and uneven, rain-slicked ground   
made the task nearly impossible. By the time Scully and Kristen   
had him stretched out on the seat, their jackets cocooning him, they   
were both trembling from cold and exertion and he'd lapsed into   
unconsciousness.

"Leave the headlights off," Scully said, cranking the heater as high   
as it would go. "We'll have to rely on the parking lights."

"Aren't you afraid they'll betray the fact that we're coming?"

"I'm more afraid of driving into a tree or landing in a ditch." Scully   
tore her eyes from Mulder's face. "Look, Kristen, we have to go in   
fully prepared to find Grey and whoever did this to Mulder. But I   
don't think we will."

Kristen's gaze reflexively jerked to her face before she forced it   
back to the road. "What are you trying to say, Dana? Why not?"

"For the simple reason that we found Mulder where we did. Do   
you honestly think he'd be allowed to wander around out here if   
someone was holding Grey hostage up at the house?"

Kristen worried her lip between her teeth. "But why would they   
take Grey and leave Mulder? And where would they have gone?"

"I don't know. But I think Mulder does." 

Mulder muttered something unintelligible, squirming under the   
confinement of their makeshift blanket. Scully reached between   
the seats to lay her hand on his head until he subsided. She sighed.   
"You could have given us a little bit more to go on, Mulder."

"There it is." Kristen cut the engine and stared at the cabin and the   
rectangular swathe of light spilling from its open front door. She   
swallowed, her voice wavering. "Not a good sign."

Scully cast one more look over her shoulder and checked the clip   
in her weapon before getting out of the car and locking Mulder   
inside. She did a 360-degree scan of the clearing, senses hyper-  
attuned to the slightest sound or movement, then motioned Kristen   
forward. 

"Stay behind me and keep your eyes and ears open. We both know   
what this looks like, but trusting appearances could get us all   
killed."

"There's obviously a reason I'm not a field agent," Kristen   
murmured, offering her a tight smile.

Scully's nose picked up the smell the minute they stepped inside.   
She eyed the closed door to her right, but turned left. The short   
hallway opened into a small room--a den with bookshelves lining   
the walls, a small oak desk and an overstuffed lounge chair with a   
reading lamp. Empty. Kristen reached for the doorknob on the coat   
closet but she waved her away, cautiously nudging the door open   
and examining the rack containing a parka, a slicker, and several   
lightweight jackets and sweaters. Parting the garments she   
searched behind them, both disappointed and relieved to find only   
boxes and a pair of boots.

Scully retraced her steps and turned right, pausing in front of the   
closed door.

"Why do I get the feeling I really, really don't want to know what's   
in there?" Kristen's eyes looked huge in her pale face.

Scully inclined her head, gesturing with her weapon. Kristen   
turned the knob and pushed, moving aside as Scully stepped   
around the corner and into the doorway, gun raised. Death, a faint   
suggestion in the hallway, became an overwhelming presence--in   
air heavy with the ripe odor of decay and in the motionless lump   
on the bed, shrouded by a bloody sheet.

Scully bypassed the bed to conduct a brief, cursory search of the   
bedroom and bath, but Kristen wandered closer, one hand pressed   
beneath her nose. She stretched out trembling fingers, halting just   
before they brushed the sheet. Jerking her arm back and tucking it   
close to her body, she shook her head.

"I can't. I... Oh, God, Dana, what if...?"

Scully moved past with a gossamer touch to Kristen's sleeve.   
Mulder's words echoed in her head: "Said he wouldn't   
leave...promised...but, he's...he's gone, Scully."

Grey. No.

She grasped the sheet firmly and drew it back, exposing the stiff   
limbs and contorted features of...a stranger.

All the air exited her lungs in a whoosh and she heard a smothered   
sob as Kristen sagged, swaying. Scully grasped her elbow.

"Are you all right?" When Kristen nodded, she continued, "I'm   
going to do a quick sweep of the rest of the house. Wait here."

Kristen's lips quivered in a precarious, wobbly smile. "I know it's   
illogical to feel any relief. I know Grey's out there somewhere, still   
at the mercy of a killer. But he's alive, Dana. He's alive."

Scully thought of Mulder, unconscious and bleeding in the back   
seat of the rental car. A bullet in his leg. Fingerprints on his throat.   
Left to die.

She looked at Kristen; mustered a weak smile. "I'll be right back."

 

Asheville Memorial Hospital  
Monday  
10:21 a.m.

 

The high-pitched trill of her cell phone pulled Scully from a   
restless doze. She fumbled it out of her pocket with sleep-drunk   
fingers, nearly poking herself in the eye with the antenna as she   
lifted it to her ear.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully. I was hoping you could give me an update on   
Agent Mulder's condition and the search for his brother." Skinner's   
voice drove away remaining cobwebs, straightening her spine.

She stood and paced slowly over to the double doors, tucking a   
particularly unruly lock of hair behind her ear. "Of course, sir. He's   
in surgery at the moment to remove the bullet."

"How bad is it?"

Scully let her eyes slip shut, head bowed, bombarded by memories   
of the nerve-wracking ambulance ride from the clinic in Spring   
Creek to Asheville Memorial. Ironically, Mulder's exposure to the   
icy rain had served to temporarily counteract both the high fever   
and the inflammation from his infected leg. By the time Kristen   
had driven them back down the mountain, however, he was   
delirious, his skin on fire. It had been all she could do to keep him   
from thrashing about and further injuring his leg.

"It's.... He's not good, sir. They think the bullet fractured his right   
femur. Lack of medical treatment coupled with less than sanitary   
conditions caused infection to set in rapidly and gain a firm hold.   
In addition, he's lost a significant amount of blood. The body--even   
a healthy one--can't sustain an assault on multiple systems for long.   
He's very weak." Part of her was proud of her nearly clinical   
detachment; part of her was horrified.

A pause while Skinner digested her words. "Has he been able to   
tell you anything more about what happened, or where Grey might   
be?"

"I'm afraid not. He did a lot of talking in the ambulance, but very   
little of it made sense. Forensics is going over the cabin as we   
speak. The local bureau in Charlotte sent out a team immediately.   
An agent by the name of Henderson is in charge." Scully massaged   
the ache above her left eye. "A warning, sir. You may get a call   
from Sheriff Edwards in Spring Creek. He...ah...wasn't pleased   
when I ordered him off the investigation."

"I'll take that under advisement. Of course, I'll be forced to point   
out that if his man could tell his ass from his elbow such measures   
wouldn't be necessary. In fact, we might have avoided this whole   
mess." Skinner's sarcasm faded to gruff concern. "I spoke with   
SAC Larraby. You've been officially relieved of duty on the   
Englewood bombing. He asked me to convey his thanks for all   
your hard work, and that he understands you're more urgently   
needed elsewhere."

The unexpected kindness of the gesture rocked her tenuous   
composure, but Scully hung on. "I appreciate that, sir."

Another, longer pause, and she could almost picture the small   
muscle twitching along his jaw. "Stay in contact. I'm doing   
everything I can from this end."

"Thank you."

Scully slipped the phone into her pocket and turned around,   
confronted with a styrofoam cup and Kristen's weary, halfhearted   
attempt to smile. "Taste it before you thank me. I thought coffee   
like this was against the Hippocratic oath. First, do no harm...?"

"I'm hardly in a position to be choosy." Scully took a sip, winced.   
"At least it's hot." She eyed Kristen over the rim of the cup. "Any   
news?"

Kristen shrugged. "I talked to Henderson, but he was pretty tight-  
lipped. They've come up with four distinct sets of prints, some on   
the dead man. His identity has been confirmed as Chris Peterson,   
the owner of the cabin. The preliminary estimate for time of death   
is late Saturday night, early Sunday morning." She sank listlessly   
into a hard plastic chair. "All very interesting, but it doesn't put us   
any closer to finding Grey."

"It's a start. Once they run the prints..."

The double doors to the surgical wing snapped open, derailing   
Scully's thoughts. She scrutinized the approaching surgeon's face   
and body language as a Rosetta stone for the verdict he was about   
to deliver.

"Dr. Hawkins. How is he?"

Hawkins, a forty-something orthopedic surgeon with slick, dark   
hair, roving eyes, and a condescending smile had evidently played   
hooky on the day they taught bedside manner. "Truthfully, not   
much has changed since we last spoke, Dr. Scully. I removed the   
bullet. As the x-rays indicated, it had grazed the femur, fracturing   
the bone. Our real concern, however, is that the wound has gone   
septic. I've left the wound open and started him on intravenous   
antibiotics--we'll worry about setting the leg if we get the infection   
under control."

"When."

Hawkins eyes, which had been focused on her chest, crawled up to   
her face. "Excuse me?"

"When you get the infection under control. Not if."

Hawkins frowned, then waved his hand dismissively. "Of course,   
of course."

"When can I see him?"

"He's still in recovery. We'll be moving him to the ICU shortly.   
One of the nurses will come and get you once he's settled in."

"It's very important I see him as soon as possible."

Hawkins practically rolled his eyes. "Where's the fire? Between the   
fever and the anesthesia it's highly unlikely he'll be conscious, let   
alone lucid. Look, I know you're worried about your husband, but   
the best thing you can do..."

"Agent Mulder is the only person who can shed some light on the   
whereabouts of a kidnapped police detective. Every hour that   
passes, every minute, the trail grows colder. And a man's life hangs   
in the balance." Scully's frigid glare actually drove him a half step   
backward. "That's the fire, Dr. Hawkins. Now can I expect your   
cooperation or do I need to speak to someone in authority?"

"That won't be necessary." Hawkins tugged the surgical mask from   
around his neck and crumpled it in his fist. "I'll inform the nurses   
of the...unusual circumstances behind your request. I assure you, it   
will be honored."

"Thank you."

Scully watched his rigid back disappear through the doors, the   
blood pounding in her ears. She slowly turned back toward   
Kristen, expecting to find her still hunched in the uncomfortable   
chair. Instead, she appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation   
with a stranger. They both looked up as she approached, Kristen's   
haunted, red-rimmed eyes matched by the man's equally grim gaze. 

"Dana." Kristen darted a glance at the stranger, then smoothed her   
fingertips across her cheeks, brusquely brushing away tears. "How   
is he?"

"In recovery. I should be able to see him soon." She carefully   
studied the man as she spoke.

Tall, his sandy hair was close cropped in a style reminiscent of   
Mulder's "weed-whacker" days. He had the stocky, muscular build   
of a football player, the square jaw and formal bearing of a marine.   
Though he was dressed simply in faded jeans and a worn leather   
jacket, she detected a slight bulge at his hip that suggested a   
weapon.

"Dana, this is Mark Preston--Grey's partner? Mark, this is Dana." 

"Of course." Scully's hand was engulfed in a firm, yet gentle grip.   
"I've heard a lot about you from Grey."

"Me, too." A hint of humor softened his expression. "I've been   
giving him a hard time for a while now because I still haven't met   
his brother. Told him I'd decided the guy was a figment of his   
imagination. He said if he was going to conjure up an imaginary   
brother, he'd sure as heck pick a more believable name than Fox."

"That sounds like Grey." Scully stole a quick look down the   
hallway before continuing. "I don't know how thoroughly you've   
been briefed on the situation." She frowned. "In fact, I'm surprised   
you were able to get here so quickly."

"Agent Scully--Dana, I know more about this mess than you   
think." Preston paused, then gestured that they all sit down. When   
they had each claimed a chair, he continued.

"I got a call from the bureau in Charlotte at the crack of dawn this   
morning. They arranged for a helicopter to fly me out here ASAP."

Scully arched an eyebrow. "That seems unusually...solicitous."

"My emotional well being had nothing to do with it. They   
contacted me as soon as they heard about the condition of   
Peterson's body, because they realized exactly what they were   
dealing with. And with Grey out of the picture, I'm the closest   
thing to an expert." 

Kristen looked into her cooling cup of coffee; set it down with a   
thump. "I don't understand. What are you trying to tell us? I got the   
impression when I talked to Henderson that something else was   
going on here, that he knew more than he would say. Now you're   
making cryptic remarks, hinting that you know who took Grey.   
Just give it to us straight, because I'm sick and tired of everyone   
beating around the bush."

Scully put a steadying hand on her arm. "Kristen..."

"It's okay, she's right. I suppose I do sound as if I'm stringing you   
along, but it isn't intentional. I'm still struggling to deal with all this   
myself. See, that phone call this morning brought back an old   
nightmare I'd thought Grey and I had put behind us."

Mark took a deep breath, then slowly, haltingly began to talk. He   
described the string of grisly murders, their attempts to work with   
the FBI in creating a profile, and Grey's final confrontation with   
the killer in the hospital parking garage. By the time he'd finished,   
Kristen was white-faced and silent.

"So I've been proceeding from the wrong assumption," Scully   
murmured. "This guy was never after Mulder in the first place.   
Grey was his target."

The muted squeak of crepe soles caught her attention and her head   
swiveled toward the nurse headed in their direction. The woman's   
eyes scanned the group, fastening on Scully's copper hair.

"Doctor Scully? If you'll follow me I'll take you to your husband   
now. Dr. Hawkins left instructions that you can have fifteen   
minutes with him. After that you'll be expected to comply with the   
usual schedule of five minutes per hour."

Scully was on her feet and had taken two steps before catching   
herself and turning back to Mark and Kristen.

"We'll be right here," Kristen said, her voice rusty but firm. "Give   
Mulder my love and..."

Scully nodded, a sharp bob of her head. "I know. I'll do my best."

"He's been in and out since recovery." The nurse's brisk stride,   
twice as long as Scully's shorter legs could manage, had her nearly   
trotting to keep up. "Don't be alarmed if he doesn't make much   
sense or keeps asking the same questions. His temperature is   
elevated and he's receiving strong pain medication; as you know,   
some disorientation is to be expected."

"How high is the fever?"

"The last reading was 103.4. We're monitoring it closely. If it   
continues to rise..."

The woman's voice faded to an indistinct drone as the still figure   
behind a pane of glass filled all Scully's senses. She stepped into   
the cubicle, cataloguing the output from each piece of machinery   
before walking to the bed. 

Slipping her cool fingers between Mulder's, she watched his eyes   
flicker beneath closed lids. Though he was a far cry from the man   
who had kissed her good-bye just four days previous, transfusions   
had already bestowed a hint of color to his pale cheeks.

"What are we doing here, Mulder? We had a deal."

Like a flower seeking sunlight, Mulder turned toward her voice.   
His tongue slipped out to moisten dry lips and he grimaced.   
"Scuh...Scully?"

"Right here, love."

He swallowed, shivering. "Where...?"

"You're in the hospital. You were shot, remember?"

"Cold."

Scully stroked her fingers along the tender underside of his arm. "I   
know. They're trying to keep your temperature down." She glanced   
through the glass at the hovering nurse; leaned closer. "Mulder, the   
man who shot you still has Grey. Do you know where he was   
taking him?"

Mulder's eyes slid open to half-mast and his hand jerked from her   
grasp. "Grey. Don't...don't go with him."

Scully placed one hand on his forehead, trying to still his restless   
movements with the other. "Shhh. Calm down, Mulder. Where?   
Where did Grey go?"

"Where it...it went wrong."

She kept her voice low, reassuring. "You have to help me, I don't   
understand. Do you mean when you were shot?"

"Not like the others...promised." Fingers plucking fretfully at the   
sheet, his eyes looked through her, focused on a truth she could   
neither see nor comprehend.

"Mulder..."

"Hurts, Scully." 

"I know it does, but..."

"What happened? Where 'm I?" His voice thinned, the words   
slurring.

Scully bit her lip, shoulders curled under a crushing weight of   
helplessness. She moved her hand down to cup his hot cheek,   
thumb sweeping slowly back and forth.

"Shhh. You're in the hospital. You need to sleep, Mulder. Let go   
and don't worry. Everything will be all right, I promise."

He leaned into her touch with a sigh, fingers quieting, eyes   
fluttering shut. "No promises...Scully. Jus'...jus' stay."

Within seconds he'd drifted off again and the nurse loomed in the   
doorway.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Scully, but your time is up."

"I know. I was just leaving."

Scully took her hand from his cheek, replacing it briefly with her   
lips. Walking away from him was almost as hard as confronting   
the hopeful faces in the waiting room.

Kristen studied her cautiously, the animation draining from her   
expression. "He couldn't tell you anything."

"He tried, I think. It just doesn't make any sense."

"What did he say?"

"He said our killer was going to take Grey 'where it went wrong.'   
Whatever that means." Scully folded her arms tightly across her   
chest, struggling with an irrational burst of irritation with Kristen.   
"He's sick and in pain. He can't even remember he's in a hospital,   
let alone what happened to his brother."

Kristen appeared too preoccupied to acknowledge the sharpness of   
Scully's reply. "Could he be talking about where their camping trip   
went wrong? Maybe where he was shot?"

"I doubt it," Mark answered. "The theory is that Fox was shot   
somewhere along the road as he and Grey attempted to hike to   
Chris Peterson's cabin--not a likely destination to take a hostage   
considering the whole area is now crawling with law enforcement.   
This guy pulled off four murders without getting caught, then laid   
low for nearly six years. He's managed to overpower a police   
detective and a federal agent. That takes cunning and careful   
planning, down to the smallest detail. He wants Grey for   
something. Wherever he's taken him, it wasn't a random, spur of   
the moment decision."

Kristen, who had been watching Mark intently while he was   
speaking, caught her breath. "Wait a minute. You said Grey was   
responsible for preventing the last murder, didn't you? A doctor?"

"That's right. He interrupted the killer before he could finish the   
job. The doc lived--barely."

Scully nodded, excitement lighting her eyes. "I see where you're   
headed, Kristen. Up until that point, everything was going   
smoothly for the killer. He'd had both the pleasure gained from the   
murders, and the satisfaction of making the police look foolish.   
But Grey changed all that. He did more than just prevent our   
UNSUB from finishing with the doctor. He forced him to stop   
killing altogether and go into hiding. What if that's what Mulder   
meant? What if that's 'where everything went wrong'?"

"The parking garage at the hospital? Do you really think he'd be   
crazy enough to go back there?" But Mark's voice was hopeful.

"Serial killers can be almost superstitious about the mode and   
method of the act. And you yourself said this guy has issues with   
success. Grey stole his thunder that night in the garage, grabbed   
the media's attention and became the star. What better way to take   
it all back?"

Mark pulled out a cell phone. "I'll call Henderson. He can assemble   
a team and..."

Scully's hand shot out and clamped over his wrist. "Wait. Let's   
think about this."

"Think about it? What's there to think about? If we move fast, just   
maybe we can beat this guy at his own game, get there ahead of   
him."

"I agree. But this has to be handled with kid gloves. As you said,   
this guy is smart and he plans ahead. We have to proceed quickly   
but quietly, without betraying that we're on to him. One misstep,   
the slightest hint of a set up, and things will turn ugly."

"You think Henderson doesn't know that?"

"I think I don't know SAC Henderson, or anything about the way   
he operates. I think I'm not willing to place my brother-in-law's life   
in the hands of a stranger."

Mark shook his head. "Grey once said you and his brother were the   
two most paranoid people he'd ever meant. I thought he was   
joking." He stared at the phone in his hand, then slipped it into his   
pocket. "All right. What do you suggest we do? And please don't   
say handle it ourselves, because I stopped operating under the   
delusion that I was Dirty Harry at least ten years ago."

Scully pulled out her own phone. "I'm a trained federal agent,   
Detective Preston. I don't intend to enter a hostage situation   
without reinforcements. But I do intend to be the one running the   
show."

 

Asheville Memorial Hospital  
Monday  
11:47 a.m.

 

"Yes, sir. I'd appreciate it if you'd continue to keep me   
informed...I'll call you as soon as I know more...Yes, I'll tell   
him...Thank you, sir."

Scully replaced the receiver on the cradle and turned, visibly   
startling when confronted by Mark Preston's bulk looming at her   
back. He held up his hands, palm out, with a sheepish grin.

"Sorry. I thought you heard me walk up."

"I was a bit preoccupied." With a clipped nod and a smile, Scully   
passed the phone to a nurse in rose-colored scrubs. After several   
pointed stares, she'd traded the convenience of her cell for the   
phone located at the nurses' station.

Mark nodded, a line appearing between his brows. "Yeah. Look, I   
couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation just now,   
and..." The line intensified. "It sounded as if you're not planning to   
come to Raleigh."

Scully resisted the urge to drop her eyes. "That's right."

"I see."

"Do you?" When Mark's only answer was folded arms and thinned   
lips, she plowed on. "My partner--my husband--is lying in the ICU,   
half dead from a gunshot wound. He needs me."

"And what about Grey? What about what he needs? Or doesn't that   
count?"

Scully controlled her temper--barely. "Of course it counts. Why   
else would I have arranged for an Assistant Director of the FBI to   
oversee the operation tonight? Despite what you may think, I didn't   
easily arrive at the decision to remain behind. Grey is family to   
me; I'm just as worried about him as you are. But my place has to   
be here, with Mulder. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check on   
him. I promised Kristen I'd be..."

Preston caught hold of her arm just above the elbow. When she   
rounded on him, he released it as if scalded, shoving both hands   
into his pockets. "I...ah...I'm sorry I came on so strong. I know   
you're doing what you can for Grey. It's just that... I've seen what   
this guy is capable of. I've examined too many crime scenes, ID'd   
too many victims. The thought that Grey..." His jaw snapped shut   
and he glared off down the hallway.

Scully released a long, slow draught of air. "I understand. But   
please believe me when I say that I would trust Assistant Director   
Skinner with my life."

"I believe you, Dana. But I don't think that's the real issue. What I'd   
like to know is, would you trust him with Fox's life?" When   
several seconds passed and she still struggled to answer, he   
nodded. "That's what I thought."

He'd taken several steps toward the elevators before Scully found   
her voice. "Mark..."

He waved a hand over his shoulder without turning around. "I need   
a cup of coffee before I check in with Henderson. He's going to be   
extremely pissed about your little coup."

She didn't stay to watch him board the elevator. Irritation and   
anxiety, laced with a hefty dose of guilt, stiffened her spine and   
quickened her pace. When she stepped into Mulder's cubicle, a   
nurse was just removing a blood pressure cuff from his arm.   
Kristen had vacated the chair beside his bed to allow the woman   
room to maneuver. 

Though countless questions lurked in Kristen's eyes, she merely   
said, "I was just coming to get you. He woke up a few minutes ago   
and he's been asking for you."

"He's doing better--pressure's up and temperature's dropped a   
degree," the nurse said, stepping aside to give Scully her first   
glimpse of heavy-lidded hazel eyes. She returned the chart to the   
hook on the end of the bed, adding in a tone for Scully's ears only,   
"He's a bit agitated; see if you can calm him. I'll be back with   
another shot of morphine in about five minutes."

"Scully?"

She was already moving toward the bed, Kristen's mute   
interrogation and the nurse's words of caution eclipsed by the need   
in Mulder's voice.

"Hey." 

Fingers still too warm, eyes glazed, yet he latched onto her hand   
with unexpected strength. "He has Grey, Scully."

"Shhh. I know, love."

"Have to...have to find him. Stop him before..."

"We're doing everything we can, Mulder. We're pretty certain he's   
taking Grey back to Raleigh. Skinner is putting together a team as   
we speak."

"He's smart, Scully...too smart. Can't...can't underestimate...always   
step ahead, like beforeÖ He'sÖ"

"Not this time. This time we'll be ready for him." Scully glanced at   
the monitors, frowning. "You need to calm down, Mulder. Rest.   
Skinner will..."

"No!" His fingers bore down until the small bones in her hand   
ground together and his restless movements intensified. With a   
mixture of irritation, amusement, and disbelief, Scully realized he   
was attempting to get out of bed. "My brother. 'M not trusting...not   
even Skinner..."

He was weak as a kitten--even his bullheaded determination   
couldn't prevent her from holding him down with a firm hand on   
his chest. "Mulder, stop. You're in no shape to get out of this bed;   
you'll only wind up tearing stitches."

Mulder abruptly went still and the look of sheer emotional agony   
in his eyes knocked the air from her lungs like a punch to the   
stomach. "Scully...you go." 

"Mulder..." She shook her head, fumbled for the words to refuse   
him. "I can't leave, you need..."

"Grey needs...needs you more. Scully, he...he gave up...without a   
fight. For me." His voice, already paper-thin, trembled and broke.   
"You have to...to go, because..."

With impeccable timing, the nurse chose that moment to glide   
back into the cubicle, stainless steel tray in hand and a slight crimp   
of disapproval in her lips. She emptied the contents of a syringe   
into Mulder's IV, glancing pointedly at the wall clock on her way   
out the door.

Mulder ignored the intrusion, never taking his eyes from Scully's   
face. His whole body thrummed with grief and exhaustion.   
"Please, ScullyÖgo."

"Shh. All right, I'll go." She moved to sit on the bed, cradling his   
face in her hands. "I'll go, Mulder. I'll do everything in my power   
to make sure Grey comes back to us safe and sound."

"You don' understandÖsomethin'Öneed to tell you." The   
morphine was obviously hitting him hard, slurring his words and   
dilating his eyes until only a thin ring of hazel remained.

"I do understand. You need to stop fighting the meds and relax.   
Deep breaths, nice and slow." One hand drifted up to smooth damp   
hair back from his forehead while she continued to murmur   
reassurances. 

His eyes fluttered shut, then popped open. "NoÖno, Scully. Have   
to tellÖtell who he is."

"We already know, Mulder. We realize he's the same serial killer   
Grey almost apprehended five years ago. We understand how   
dangerous he is, and we're taking every precaution." She carded   
her fingers through his hair, stroking, soothing. "Skinner has his   
best people on this. Sleep, love. We'll take care of Grey." 

Mulder mumbled something unintelligible but his eyes drifted shut   
and remained that way. Within moments he'd dropped into an   
uneasy doze, face pinched by pain and worry even in slumber. 

By the time Scully had carefully extricated herself from his side,   
Kristen was already out in the hallway, her face a study in   
conflicting emotions.

"Did you mean what you said? Are you coming to Raleigh?"

Scully watched through the glass as a nurse--a different nurse--  
proceeded to hang another unit of blood.

"I promised, didn't I?" 

Kristen's sigh of relief was audible. "Dana, I know how difficult it   
must be for you to leave him, but..."

"It is difficult. Terribly difficult." She spoke slowly, carefully. "But   
there's really not much I can do here right now. I'm of more use to   
Grey, and Mulder, in Raleigh. No matter how much I might want   
to remain here, I have to put aside my personal feelings."

Kristen's expression turned guarded. "Why do I get the feeling   
you're trying to tell me something?"

"Kristen, you're not a field agent. You must know Skinner will   
never let you anywhere near that parking garage."

"I could at least be nearby. Close enough that when you do get to   
him... Dana, don't ask this. You of all people understand."

"It seems a fair trade. I'll watch out for Grey in Raleigh, and you   
keep an eye on Mulder for me while I'm gone." 

"Dana..."

"I can't do the job in Raleigh if my head is back here, worrying   
about him. You want to help Grey? Help me. Please."

Kristen's face twisted into a scowl, but the glaze of tears in her   
eyes betrayed her. "All right! I'll stay. But so help me God, Dana,   
if anything happens to him and I'm not there..."

"Only two things will happen in that garage tonight. A killer will   
be apprehended, and Grey will walk away, alive." Scully met   
Kristen's gaze without flinching. "So help me God."

"I hope you're right." 

"Me, too." Scully turned to look at Mulder, her voice dropping to   
little more than a whisper. "For all our sakes."

 

Pine View Motel  
Burlington, NC  
1:33 p.m.

 

"Sit here. I'm gonna get us a room." Jake unlocked the cuff on   
Grey's right wrist and fastened it to the steering wheel. He got out   
of the car, then leaned in the open door, pulling aside his coat to   
reveal the gun tucked in his waistband. "I'll be watching through   
that window. You try to get loose, signal anyone--hell, you even   
blink wrong and the guy behind the desk won't be coming home to   
his family tonight. Got it?"

Grey's lip curled. "Yeah. I got it."

He watched Jake saunter into the shabby motel office, greeting the   
proprietor with a brilliant and completely insincere smile. One tug   
on the cuffs told him escape was futile, and he noticed Jake had   
positioned himself so that he could still see the car as he paid for   
the room. Cursing under his breath he slumped down in the seat,   
wincing at the pressure on his already bruised wrist.

Fox's pale, anguished face appeared before his eyes, and he   
squeezed them shut against traitorous moisture. He wondered if his   
brother was still alive. Blood loss, fever, infection--it was unlikely   
he'd survive for long, alone and without the medical treatment he   
so desperately needed. 

"You promised you'd never leave me, said you were here to stay."

Oh, God, Fox. I did it for you. You have to know that.

The car door opened and Jake slid behind the wheel. "Number 13,"   
he said, jiggling the room key before proceeding to transfer the   
cuff from the steering wheel back to Grey's wrist. "Last one on the   
right, around the corner. Told him we'd been driving all night and   
needed a real quiet place to catch some Zs."

Grey stared out the window as Jake navigated the car to a parking   
spot in front of their room. As indicated, the entrance was   
secluded, far from the few occupied rooms.

"You're awful quiet," Jake sneered. "What happened to the cop   
who tried to talk my ear off for the last ten hours?"

"Maybe he finally figured out you're not gonna say anything worth   
hearing."

The smug amusement vanished from Jake's face. "Oh, you're   
gonna hear me. Everyone's gonna hear me."

He got out of the car, shut the door with a bang, and circled around   
to open Grey's. Dropping a coat over his captive's bound hands,   
Jake motioned with the gun carefully concealed by his own jacket.   
"Move it."

Dark paneled walls and heavy brocade bedspreads, the room   
reeked of stale cigarette smoke and mildew. Grey stood just inside   
the doorway, nearly swaying with exhaustion, while Jake engaged   
the locks and drew the drapes. More than 48 hours had passed   
since he'd gotten any real sleep, and his brain and body were   
beginning to shut down. He stared, hypnotized, at the nearest   
double bed.

"Lay down."

Jake's hard shove in the small of his back sent Grey tumbling face   
first onto the mattress with a soft grunt. He could muster little   
more than a token protest as the killer efficiently cuffed him to one   
of the solid pine bedposts and yanked the phone from the wall,   
tossing it across the room.

"It's still not too late to stop this. If you turned yourself in, it would   
look good on your record."

Jake pasted on an expression of exaggerated interest. "Hey! Why   
didn't I think of that? I'll bet letting a cop go and giving myself up   
to the police would make them forget all about all those other dead   
people. Probably get off with just a slap on the wrist, huh?"

"No. But it might mean the difference between life in prison and   
the electric chair."

"Yeah? Well, I think I'll just take door number three, Monty--none   
of the above. I've done time, and it was an experience I don't intend   
to repeat."

"You've been in prison?"

"Don't look so surprised. What did you think I was doing the past   
few years, traveling abroad? After the night you nearly caught me   
doing that doctor, I figured I'd better get out of town for a while. I   
got dragged into a bar fight down in Florida and wound up cutting   
a guy pretty bad. Bam! Assault with a deadly weapon, carrying a   
concealed weapon, destruction of public property..."

"Even prison is better than..."

"Like you'd know? When was the last time you were on the wrong   
side of the bars, Detective? You know, I cursed you every single   
day I spent in that hellhole."

"Me?"

"If it wasn't for you, I never would've had to leave town and I   
never would've gotten into that mess. I had a good thing going   
until you stuck your nose in where it didn't belong."

Grey struggled to raise himself on one elbow, ignoring the bite of   
the cuffs. "A good thing? You sick bastard, you were murdering   
people!"

Jake flopped onto the adjoining bed and laced his hands behind his   
head. "We've been through this. I already explained why they have   
to die."

"Right. Poor Jake, always dealt the rotten hand, never gets what he   
deserves," Grey jeered. "If you didn't like where your life was   
going, you had nobody to blame but yourself. Maybe if you'd done   
something to turn it around instead of whining and complaining..."

In one swift move Jake rolled off the bed and buried his fingers in   
Grey's hair, yanking his head back until his neck screamed in   
agony. "You think I didn't try? I went the community college route,   
tried to take classes at night. I was tired after working all day, too   
tired to deal with lectures and homework. Besides, it would've   
taken way too long to get a degree that way. I wanted more. I   
deserved it all."

He reversed the motion of his hand, pressing Grey's face into the   
mattress until he couldn't breathe. "I'm done talking. Now shut the   
hell up and let me get some sleep, or I'll gag you."

The fingers disappeared and Grey managed to turn his head,   
gulping air like a drowning man. The muscles in his neck sent   
bright shards of pain down his spine and the edges of his vision   
wavered in and out of focus. Jake ignored his distress, stretching   
back out on the bed and closing his eyes. Within minutes his   
breathing was slow and even. 

Eventually, Grey's respiration eased and the pain in his neck settled   
down to a dull throb. Trying to free himself from the handcuffs   
only succeeded in bloodying his wrist, and Jake had been careful to   
remove from his reach anything that might possibly serve as a   
weapon. Energy depleted, Grey could only attempt to find a   
position that would spare both his raw wrist and aching neck. 

He didn't want to admit there was no way out of the desperate   
situation in which he found himself. He didn't want to wonder if   
he'd done the right thing back at the cabin. Most of all, he didn't   
want to sleep with a cold-blooded killer not five feet from his side,   
but his body had other ideas. His last thought, as he lost the battle   
with leaden eyelids, was to hope Fox was warm and safe.

 

Asheville Memorial  
Monday  
10:53 p.m.

 

If only it weren't so damn dark.

He creeps along, all senses on alert, Scully a vague shadow off to   
the right. The gun feels heavy, oily against his sweat-slick palm.   
The bass rumble of heavy machinery humming in his ears and   
vibrating the metal plates beneath his feet echoes the   
overpowering sensation of danger that thrums through his blood.

Evil is watching, waiting.

With a jolt of uneasiness, he realizes Scully has drawn ahead, her   
bright copper hair barely visible in the gloom.

Where is his flashlight?

He quickens his steps, even as a figure coalesces out of the   
shadows at her back. The shape dwarfs Scully's small form--huge,   
hulking, dark. The upraised knife glitters like a cold star.

Time slows to a crawl. He can't shoot--the monster and Scully are   
as close as lovers, though she remains unaware. He can't cover   
the distance quickly enough to arrest the blow. All he can do is   
warn her.

Terror fuels the cry that begins somewhere around his toes,   
swelling to an ear-splitting scream when it reaches his lips.   
"Scully, behind you!" He hears the words in his head, opens his   
mouth...

To silence.

Panicked, he tries again. And again. Each time, the words lodge in   
his throat, unspoken. 

And the knife plunges in a smooth arc...

"Sculleeeee! Sculleeeee!"

"Shh! Mulder, wake up. It's a dream. You're having a bad dream."

Hands, gripping his shoulders. A pair of worried green eyes. The   
rapid beep of a heart monitor. Pain.

Mulder blinked, shivering as clarity seeped into his muzzy brain.   
He was sitting bolt upright, the sheet clenched in his fists and   
sweat trickling down his back. If the monitor was any indication,   
he'd just given his heart quite the workout.

"Just a nightmare, Mulder. Lay back now, before you hurt   
yourself."

Kristen was seated on the edge of the bed, a nurse hovering just   
over her shoulder. Relief smoothed the lines across her forehead   
when he allowed her to guide him back onto the pillows. 

"Sorry." The word left his dry throat as a croak. "Water?"

Kristen nodded and reached for the pitcher. 

"Where's Scully?"

All his perceptions seemed jumbled, mixed up, like a stack of file   
folders dumped onto the ground, their pages in disarray. The   
relentless pain in his leg and the residue of drugs in his veins   
conspired, making it harder to focus, to think.

Kristen offered the cup, holding it to his lips when his own hands   
proved too unsteady. The water slid easily down his sore throat,   
cool and soothing.

"Dana went to Raleigh, remember?"

Like the flick of a light switch, memory flooded his brain, driving   
back the cobwebs and illuminating the dark corners with   
frightening clarity. Scully had gone to rescue Grey, to trap a killer,   
and he'd never told her...

He locked his hand around Kristen's wrist, nearly spilling the cup   
of water. "Have to...I have to talk to Scully."

Kristen peeled away his fingers and set the cup on the tray table. "I   
spoke to her a couple hours ago. They were setting up the stakeout   
at the hospital. I don't know if there's any way to contact her now."

For the first time Mulder noticed the restless movement of   
Kristen's hands, one minute fiddling with the water pitcher, the   
next smoothing the sheets. Her gaze kept wandering to the clock   
on the wall and the silent phone.

"I'm sure she'll call as soon as there's any news," she continued, but   
the slight quaver in her voice betrayed the calm she was obviously   
attempting for his sake.

"No, you don't understand. This can't wait, it's important. I know   
who the killer is."

"It's all right, Mulder. I guess you weren't exactly operating at full   
speed before when Dana tried to explain. We know who he is, too.   
Mark told us all about the murders, and how Grey..."

"Mark?" It felt like the bottom dropped out from beneath him.   
Mulder heard his heartrate soar through the pounding in his ears as   
well as the monitors. "Mark Preston?"

"That's right, Grey's partner. He was here earlier, but he went back   
to Raleigh with Dana." Kristen eyed the monitor, frowned.   
"Mulder, you have to calm down or the nurse is going to boot me   
out of here."

As if on cue, the ICU nurse was back, hypodermic in hand. The   
look she turned on Kristen was both irritated and reproachful. "I'm   
sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Mr. Mulder is less   
than 24 hours out of surgery; he can't afford to become agitated   
like this."

"No!" Mulder struggled upright, snagging Kristen's sleeve for fear   
she might obey the woman's order. "Kristen, listen to me. We have   
to get word to Scully before it's too late. Mark Preston shouldn't be   
on that stakeout. He'll get her killed."

Impatience flared in Kristen's tired eyes. "That's hardly fair, is it? I   
know you don't trust anyone else to watch Dana's back, but in this   
situation you don't have a choice. Grey spoke...speaks very highly   
of Mark; he's a good cop."

Not to be ignored, the nurse stepped closer and began swabbing the   
IV port with an alcohol wipe. "Miss, I want you to leave. Now. Mr.   
Mulder, let go of her and lie back. You're going to tear your   
stitches if you aren't careful."

"This has nothing to do with how good a cop he is! The man who   
has Grey--it's his cousin. Do you hear me, Kristen? The killer is   
Mark Preston's cousin."

"Mr. Mulder, I'm going to give you something for the pain and to   
help you sleep..."

"Wait!" Kristen's hand shot out, waving the nurse away from the   
IV. 

The woman, silver-haired and bearing the tough demeanor of a   
veteran, pursed her lips. "I will not wait. Now, I've asked you   
nicely to leave. If you persist in disrupting this ICU, I'll be forced   
to call security and have you forcibly evicted."

Kristen faced off across the bed, her own expression just as grim   
and determined. "I'm with the FBI. This man is a federal agent, and   
he has information vital to the rescue of a kidnapped policeman   
and the apprehension of a serial killer. Now back off and let him   
talk."

The nurse's eyes flew open wide, and her lips formed a little "o" of   
astonishment before she turned and stalked out of the cubicle,   
muttering under her breath. Mulder sank back, panting, against the   
pillows, too relieved to find humor in Kristen's victory.

Kristen spared a brief glance at the nurse's stiff back before   
pinning him with a sharp glare. "Did I hear you correctly? Did you   
say that the man who has Grey is Mark Preston's cousin?"

Mulder nodded. "His name is Jake; Grey recognized him. That's   
how he knew where we were, how he was able to set us up."

"All those years ago--it was Mark's cousin killing those people?   
He...he did that to the man in the cabin? How could...what kind of   
monster is he?"

"A sick one. He's a sociopath who has a perfectly good reason for   
every terrible thing he's done--in his own mind, anyway. Kristen, if   
Mark sees him, if he finds out who his killer really is in the middle   
of the action..."

"Oh, God. You're right, of course, you're right." Kristen began to   
pace, her hands pressed to her cheeks. "What do we do? They   
could show up in the garage at any moment, if they haven't   
already."

"Call Scully's cell. Now."

Kristen seized the phone from the bedside table and punched in   
numbers as Mulder rattled them off. He watched, willing Scully to   
answer, as Kristen paced within the short reach of the cord. After a   
moment she cursed and slammed the receiver down.

"All I get is a message saying the cellular customer is unavailable.   
Mulder, they're in the garage under the hospital. It's a good bet the   
signal's not strong enough."

Mulder stared blankly at her for a moment, then snapped his   
fingers. "Call Skinner. There has to be a way to get ahold of him,   
he's an assistant director. He'll know how to get word to Scully."

Kristen nodded, expression tight. "I'll find him--even if I have to   
call Kim at home."

Mulder watched her scoop up the phone, only half listening as she   
proceeded to track Skinner like a bloodhound on the scent. His leg   
burned like fire, but for now the blessed relief of morphine was out   
of the question. There might be nothing more he could do for   
Scully and Grey, but he'd keep vigil until he knew they were both   
safe.

 

St. Alexius Hospital  
Raleigh, NC  
11:33 p.m.

 

"It's been more than a year since I've participated in a stakeout. I   
haven't missed it."

Scully watched Mark shift his long legs in a futile attempt to work   
out the kinks. They sat in a nondescript, Bureau-issue sedan about   
twenty feet from the elevators. The interior of the car was heavily   
shadowed--thanks to the removal of several fluorescent bulbs from   
the garage's overhead lights.

"The only aspect of the job more tedious than the paperwork."   
Scully leaned back against the headrest but continued to scan the   
area outside the car. "I usually have to fight Mulder for control of   
the radio. I'm afraid I've never understood the allure of listening to   
baseball."

"He's going to be all right."

It took Scully a moment to realize Mark was speaking of Mulder,   
not Grey. 

When she didn't answer, he added, "Sure, it'll hurt like hell for a   
while. But he's safe now, and getting the best care."

"It's not his leg I'm worried about," she admitted, a bit surprised by   
her own candor.

"You're afraid how he might react if Grey...if something happens   
to Grey?"

"Mulder's...gone through a lot of hard times. More grief, more loss   
than any one man should have to bear. Finding Grey has made a   
huge difference in his life. If he loses him now..."

"He won't. We won't." Scully turned at the vehemence in Mark's   
voice; watched his fingers tighten in a white-knuckled grip on the   
wheel. "That man has been my partner, my friend, for nearly ten   
years. I'm not about to lose him to some sick little bastard carrying   
a grudge. Not as long as I can still draw breath."

Scully turned back to the window. What could she say? Mark's   
determination was admirable, but as law enforcement officers, they   
couldn't blind themselves to the cold, hard facts: the most   
dangerous thing about hostage situations was their inherent   
unpredictability. All the conviction in the world could be undone   
with one twist of the knife, one pull on the trigger.

"For what it's worth, Fox has made a big difference in Grey's life,   
as well." Mark nodded in response to Scully's raised brow. "Grey   
and Kate...I've never seen a bond like that. They were like two   
halves of a whole. Her death decimated him. There was a time I   
was afraid he'd never be able to pull himself together."

"But his parents, his sisters..."

"Oh, they--we--all tried our best to comfort him. And don't get me   
wrong, he got better. At least, I stopped worrying that he might do   
something crazy. But he'd lost a piece of himself somewhere along   
the way. He worked, he played--but it was as if he were on   
autopilot. The man I once knew, the spark, wasn't there any more.

"And then you and Fox showed up on his doorstep. And it was   
like..."

"Finding that missing piece," Scully murmured, eyes stinging.

Mark opened his mouth to answer when Scully's radio crackled to   
life. "Agent Scully? This is Henderson. What's your status?"

She raised the radio to her lips, grimacing at the clipped, cold tone   
to the SAC's voice. "Nothing to report, sir. Everything has been   
quiet so far."

"I'm patching in a call from Assistant Director Skinner. He says it's   
urgent he speak with you immediately."

Scully blinked, lifting one shoulder in reply to Mark's inquisitive   
stare. "Thank you, sir."

"Agent Scully?" Skinner's gruff baritone was followed by a brief   
burst of static.

"Yes, sir, I'm here. Is there a problem? Is Mulder all right?"

"Mulder is fine. Scully, there's something you need to know   
before..."

Mark's fingers wrapped around her neck and yanked downward   
until she was lying on her side, face pressed into the cushion with   
his bulk draped over her back. Skinner's voice cut off midstream as   
the radio tumbled to the floor.

"Mark! What's going on? You're crushing me!" she hissed.

"A car just pulled in. I think it's our boy." 

The weight on her eased and she cautiously lifted her head to see   
Mark peering through the windshield. "Are you sure? Why   
wouldn't Henderson have warned us?"

"Not sure. Must have slipped through. Maybe the fact there's only   
one person in the car fooled them."

"Maybe the fact that there's only one person means it's not our   
man. What makes you so sure this is our UNSUB?"

Mark pulled out his weapon, checked the clip, and slid it into the   
waistband of his pants. "A long time ago, when we were first made   
partners, Grey and I came up with a signal, a kind of...of code, that   
we'd use to let each other know we'd landed in deep sh--trouble."

Scully carefully slid upright, her eyes glued to the still glowing   
taillights of the car now parked several rows from where they sat.   
"Go on." When Mark made a gesture with his right hand, she   
frowned. "That's it? You hold up three fingers?"

"Three. As in, three strikes, I'm out. Last chance--get it?"

"And this relates to our situation...how?"

"I was looking out the window while you were talking to A.D.   
Skinner. So I got a real good glimpse of that car when it drove   
past. It's filthy--a real dirtball. You ever used to write in the dirt on   
your parent's car, Dana? You know, like 'wash me' --stuff like   
that?"

"Every kid used to do that, what are you..." Scully broke off, eyes   
wide.

"Someone drew a number 3 on the passenger side door. Bit of a   
coincidence, don't you think?"

Scully reached for the radio, stopped by Mark's iron grip on her   
wrist. "Leave it. We wait for Henderson now, and it'll be too late."

"Procedure dictates..."

"Screw procedure! I'm going."

Mark opened his door and slipped out, using their car for cover as   
he circled around towards the suspect vehicle. Letting out a string   
of curses that would have impressed her brothers, Scully scooted   
across the seat and followed.

They converged at the back of the suspect's vehicle, a dilapidated   
Dodge with rusted paint and a plethora of dents and scrapes.   
Crouched behind the bumper, they could just make out the rumble   
of two voices in heated conversation. Mark tipped his head,   
expression triumphant.

"What'd I tell you? It's got to be them," he said, sotto voce. "You   
take the passenger side; I'll take the driver."

"Wait! What if..."

Sounds of a struggle erupted from within the car and Mark pulled   
his gun. "Now! Get into position. On the count of five, I'm making   
my move."

Frustrated with the way things had spiraled out of control, Scully   
watched Mark creep along the side of the car, then followed suit.

She silently counted to five, springing to her feet and bringing up   
her weapon as she heard Mark's shouted command.

"Out of the car, punk, hands where I can seem them!"

Several things happened at once, in a rapid-fire blur of images:

Grey's face peered through the window, unnaturally pale, eyes   
huge.

A hand wrapped around a large hunting knife, the blade pressed to   
Grey's throat.

The back of a dark head.

Mark's gasp--a guttural sound, filled with bewildered horror.

"Jake?"

"Mark, look out!"

Mark's gun dipped for only a moment, but it was more than enough   
time for the man behind the wheel to act, flinging his door open so   
that it connected squarely with Mark's midsection. A sickening   
thud as metal connected with flesh and bone; Mark landed on his   
back, weapon flying from his fingers to skitter across the cement   
floor. 

By the time Scully moved into position for a clear shot, it was too   
late. The dark-haired killer had Mark clutched to his chest, the tip   
of his knife dimpling the skin at the base of Mark's throat. He   
grinned toothily at Scully, putting his lips to the ear of the man in   
his grip.

"Hey, cous. Surprise!"

 

St. Alexius Hospital  
Tuesday  
12:06 a.m.

 

"Jake? How? I don't...why would you..." Mark's confused,   
overwrought babbling broke off into a low cry and blood   
blossomed where the knife's point lay against his throat.

"Put the gun down, Red. I've never put much stock in that saying   
about blood being thicker than water."

Scully met Jake's cold, humorless gaze. She slowly lowered her   
weapon, but left it resting at her side. "You're the one in charge,   
Jake. Let Mark go; don't make things worse for yourself. Surely   
you can see you're not going to make it out of here."

"What I see is that I'm the one with the hostage. Shortly to be a   
dead hostage unless you drop that weapon."

Mark's quiet words took them both by surprise. "Don't do it,   
Dana."

She hesitated until Mark's breath caught and fresh blood trickled   
down his neck. Jake's lip curled. "You never did know when to   
shut up, cousin. I'm getting tired of waiting... Dana."

She laid the gun on the hood of the car, raising both hands, palms   
out.

"Step around to the front of the car, Dana. Grey, isn't it about time   
you joined us?"

Scully did as instructed, checking her peripheral vision for signs of   
Henderson or the other team members. The garage appeared   
empty, silent as a morgue. Pushing the unwelcome image from her   
mind, she moved to stand beside Grey, who had crawled from the   
car. She took in his shackled wrists and stiff, awkward movements.

"Are you all right?"

Grey flashed her a grin, but his sunken eyes and bruised cheek   
belied its sincerity. "Depends on your definition." He looked at   
Mark. "Sorry, partner. Didn't mean to get you into this mess."

"Considering the source...seems like I'm the one...should do the   
apologizing." Mark ground the words out between clenched teeth.

"This is all very touching, but I'm on a tight schedule. Grey, get   
over here."

Grey glanced at Scully, then walked slowly over to stand beside   
Jake. "I'm the one you want--you've got me. Let Mark and Dana   
go."

"You think I'm stupid? I know there's more where they came from.   
Let them go, and I'll have a whole pack of Feds breathing down   
my neck. I've started this, and I'm going to finish it."

"You're the one who decides how this turns out. It doesn't have to   
end badly. Give me the knife--releasing your hostage and turning   
yourself in will only help your case," Scully said, holding out her   
hand.

Jake responded with a sharp shove that sent Mark tumbling into   
her, nearly knocking them both to the ground. He grabbed Grey,   
looping one arm around his neck and pressing the knife to his ribs.

"That's better. Now, Dana, I want you to take Mark's cuffs and put   
them on him."

Lips pressed to a thin line, Scully removed the handcuffs from   
Mark's jacket and began shackling his wrists. 

"Ah, ah, ah." 

She froze; turned steely eyes to Jake's face.

"Not in front, sweetie. Behind his back. And make 'em tight."

She sent Mark an apologetic look, but obeyed while covertly   
eyeing the gun still lying atop the car's hood. When she'd finished,   
Jake removed his arm from Grey's throat long enough to fish a   
keyring from his pocket.

"Here." He tossed the keys, acknowledging her one-handed catch   
with a grudging nod. "Open the trunk and put Mark inside."

"I can't do that."

The retaliation was swift and brutal. The knife flashed and Grey   
screamed, the blade slicing his right arm from shoulder to elbow.

"No! You bastard!" Scully fumbled for the correct key, her fingers   
shaking so badly she could barely hold onto the ring.

"Next time it goes right between his ribs. Hurry up."

"Why are you doing this, Jake?" Mark's voice was dazed,   
uncomprehending. "We're family; we grew up together. I've   
always tried to help you out. I thought we were friends."

"Let's just say I got tired of being the charity project who gets all   
your sloppy seconds. Friends? You don't know me--you never   
have."

"Then if your beef is with me, let Grey go. He's never done   
anything to you..."

"You'll never begin to understand what he's done to me, you   
spoiled son of a bitch. Like I said, you don't know anything about   
me. Dana, get him in there now. I'm losing my patience."

Grey watched her help his partner fold himself into the   
compartment. Sticky warmth ran down his arm, pattering crimson   
drops onto the cement, and his head felt thick and fuzzy. He hung   
on to consciousness, blinking back the darkness crowding the   
edges of his vision. He knew what came next, and what he had to   
do. Last chance. Once Dana was in the trunk with Mark, it would   
all be over.

"Put on your own cuffs, Dana."

"No."

The protest, and the quiet force with which it was delivered,   
startled both Scully and Jake. Her hand stilled on the way to her   
pocket and his arm clamped down on Grey's throat.

"She's being a good girl, Grey. Shut up and let her do as she's been   
told."

An edge to Jake's voice, the first real hint of anger. An image   
flashed before Grey's eyes--a memory so clear it hurt. Fox, barely   
able to hold his head up, his lip curled in contempt...

"It was dumb all right. Told you...you're just like all the rest."

"Don't do it, Dana. He's finished and he knows it."

As swift as a rattlesnake, Jake's hand clamped onto Grey's   
wounded arm, spinning him around until they were face to face.   
He leaned in close, the point of his blade digging into the flesh just   
above Grey's belt.

"This won't be finished until I've done what I should've done five   
years ago, hotshot." He bared his teeth in an expression that held   
too much fury to be a smile. "I'm going to enjoy myself."

Grey's arm felt as if hot spikes had been driven into the bone, but   
he ignored the pain. He had Jake's complete and undivided   
attention now. He could only pray Dana would follow his lead.   
Gritting his teeth, he raised his voice in an effort to drown out the   
ringing in his ears.

"It's over, Jake. You're just too stupid to realize it. They've got you   
trapped here, pinned down like a bug on a piece of cardboard." 

"Shut up! I've got a few tricks up my sleeve; I know what I'm   
doing. You're just running off at the mouth 'cause you know you're   
dead meat." Jake brought the knife up to caress Grey's cheek but   
his voice shook with rage. 

Grey chuffed, forcing his lips into a mocking grin. "Sure, cut me.   
You're a big man as long as you're the one holding the knife. But in   
the end, it won't change a thing. Six months from now no one will   
remember your name. You're still a failure, my friend. Just like   
you always were."

Jake's face turned blood red, eyes dilating and breath speeding up.   
"A failure? I'll show you who's the failure you arrogant..."

The knife left Grey's cheek and plunged toward his chest. 

"Dana, now!" He let his entire body go limp, legs folding, a dead   
weight that slithered out of Jake's one-handed grasp and crumpled   
to the concrete.

One shot rang out, then another. The knife skittered across the   
floor.

Grey cautiously lifted his head. Jake lay on the ground in a   
growing pool of blood, sightless eyes open wide in an expression   
of astonishment. Dana stood motionless by the hood of the car,   
arms extended and feet spread in the classic firing stance, her   
weapon clutched in her hands.

"Are you...are you all right?" The gun dropped slowly to her side.

Grey stumbled to his feet, swaying. "'M okay. You?"

A tentative step, then two, and suddenly she was pressed against   
him, her arms flung around his neck. "Thank God. I was so   
afraid..."

"Me, too, darlin'." He stiffened and pulled back, eyes searching her   
face. "Fox?"

"He's going to be fine. Kristen's with him."

Relief flooded his already weakened body so that he staggered and   
would have fallen had not Dana caught him around the waist. She   
pulled out her keys and removed the handcuffs, then wrapped her   
jacket around his injured arm to staunch the flow of blood. Grey   
blinked against a film of tears.

"He was so sick when I left him. If he'd died up there, all alone, I'd   
never have forgiven myself."

Dana drew his head down and gently brushed her lips across his,   
her thumb caressing the same cheek Jake's blade had touched.   
"Grey, you took care of him for me. He wouldn't be alive right now   
if it weren't for you. I'll never, never be able to thank you enough."

"UmÖyou know, I really hate to interrupt. But would you two   
mind helping me out of this trunk? My arms are falling asleep and   
there's a lug wrench digging into my back." A voice, muffled and   
longsuffering.

Grey's snicker broke off in a gasp of pain. "We're coming, partner.   
Just...just don't make me laugh."

Mark's answering string of curses set them both off again, Grey   
groaning between riffs of laughter. Scully's radio crackled static,   
and a moment later Henderson's anxious voice dampened their   
mirth.

"Agent Scully, we heard shots fired. What's your status?"

Scully tugged the receiver from her belt and thumbed it on. "We're   
okay--it's all over. Detective McKenzie needs medical treatment.   
The suspect is dead."

"Sit tight. We'll be right there."

"Great. Maybe Henderson will get me out of here." Mark's   
disembodied grumble was followed by rattling handcuffs.

Grinning, Scully tugged Grey's good arm around her neck and they   
headed for the trunk.

 

St. Alexius E.R.  
Tuesday  
6:32 a.m.

 

Grey glanced at the wall clock for the third time in as many   
minutes. Nearly an hour stuck waiting for a doctor to bring the   
paperwork that would allow him to leave. He flopped back onto   
the pillow, his frustrated sigh quickly turning to a grimace when   
the careless move jarred his shoulder.

"I hate to keep beating a dead horse, but a little morphine would   
make that arm a lot less painful."

Cleo leaned in the doorway, eyebrow raised and lips pursed. When   
Dana had half carried Grey in six hours earlier, chalk white and   
bleeding, Cleo had calmly taken charge as if the ER were a   
restaurant and they'd reserved a table for two. She'd quickly   
fetched a wheelchair and an orderly and settled him in a trauma   
room, pumping Dana for information on his condition while subtly   
reminding her she was the relative, not the doctor. Now that he'd   
been stitched and transfused, her current mission seemed to be   
convincing him to accept pain medication.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I wouldn't say no to a cab, though--if the   
doc ever shows up with the damn paperwork. I'm beginning to   
think this other emergency you keep telling me about doesn't really   
exist."

Cleo rolled her expressive brown eyes. "You've found us out,   
honey. It's all just an elaborate plot to keep you here. We figure if   
we stall long enough, you won't need those AMA forms."

Grey grinned at the sarcasm, shifting a little more cautiously this   
time. "Okay, so maybe that statement was a little self-absorbed. I   
just want out of here, Cleo. You've topped off my tank and stitched   
up my arm. Don't you need this bed?"

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree, child. If I had my way you'd be   
in a room upstairs right now, pumped full of enough pain killers to   
keep you from bein' such a pain in the ass. Where's that cute little   
redhead, anyway? From what I saw, she could knock some sense   
into that stubborn, macho head of yours."

"She left--had to catch a helicopter back to Asheville." Grey stuck   
out his lip, oblivious to the fact that he'd just adopted his brother's   
trademark pout. "I should be with her right now, not stuck here   
playing patient."

Cleo's brows drew together and she stalked over to the gurney.   
"News flash, Mr. Detective. You ARE the patient. You may be   
feelin' your oats right now after getting a little blood, but once the   
rest of that lidocaine I numbed you up with wears off, you're gonna   
be hurtin'. That cut wasn't deep, but it was long. Thirty stitches is   
nothing to sneeze at."

Grey ran his fingers through tangled hair, sighing. "Look, you   
don't understand. I'm not trying to be a tough guy. The lunatic who   
did this to me hurt my brother a lot worse. Last time I saw him, I   
wasn't sure he'd make it. He's in a hospital in Asheville." He leaned   
forward, voice dropping. "Cleo, I have to see him."

Her irritation faded. "No wonder Red looked like she was caught   
between a rock and a hard place." She looked him up and down for   
a long moment, expression shrewd. "All right, I'll see what I can   
do. But the way I see it, gettin' sprung from here is the least of your   
problems. You're not fit to drive a car, and bouncing along on a   
bus is going to be mighty uncomfortable for that arm."

"I'll work something out."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "I do believe you will. Now stay   
put and I'll be right back."

Grey relaxed into the mattress but doggedly refused to shut his   
eyes. Exhaustion pressed down on him, turning his eyes gritty and   
his limbs leaden. True to Cleo's prediction, the gnawing pain in his   
arm was quickly becoming impossible to ignore. Yet the need to   
go to his brother, to see with his own eyes that Fox was really all   
right, rendered all other considerations inconsequential.

And Kristen...

Lips curving, he pictured her as Dana had described--pushing   
down her own fears, determined to let no obstacle stand in the way   
of finding him. "Tough as nails," Dana had said. The genuine   
respect in her voice, an affirmation not easily earned, warmed him.

There'd been moments over the past forty-eight hours when he'd   
been certain Jake would have the revenge he so desperately sought.   
Forced to shake hands with his own mortality, he'd made an   
amazing discovery: his joy at the thought of reuniting with Kate   
was overshadowed by deep sorrow at the thought of parting with   
Kristen. Of never hearing her laughter, seeing her smile, feeling   
her in his arms. 

And somehow, on a level he could never have explained, he felt   
Kate was all right with that.

"Grey?"

Drifting, at first he mistook her voice for an extension of his own   
thoughts. Fingers smoothed tumbled hair from his forehead, then   
glided down his cheek. Grey's eyes flew open, locking onto a tear-  
stained face and wide, green eyes.

"Kristen?"

"My God, you look like you've been through the wringer." She   
sank her teeth into a quivering lip and smiled, fresh tears welling   
up. "And you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

He grinned, holding open his good arm. "Back at ya, darlin'."   
When she folded onto his chest with a strangled sound somewhere   
between a laugh and a sob, he lay his cheek on the crown of her   
head. "Shh. It's all right now, Tippi. Everything's all right now."

For several long minutes their only communication was the   
whisper of his fingers in her hair and the chuff of her breath   
against his neck. Eventually Kristen lifted her head, one hand   
tentatively brushing along the sling.

"Does it hurt?"

"Like a sonuvabitch." He punctuated the reply with a smile,   
magically transforming her stricken expression to amusement.

"You're impossible."

"So I've been told." He sobered. "How's Fox doing? I thought you   
were under orders to stay with him."

"They were countermanded by a higher authority." She chuckled at   
his bafflement. "Fox told me to come. Once we heard you were   
safe, he practically kicked me out of the room." Her laughter   
faded. "He said I belonged here, with you."

"He was right." Grey traced a fingertip along her cheekbone,   
tucking blonde hair behind her ear. Veiled with tears, his eyes met   
hers, fused. "I love you, Kristen."

She jerked backward as if slapped, mouth working soundlessly   
until she finally managed a hoarse whisper. "I...what?"

"I love you. I have for a while now, I've just been too afraid to say   
the words." His hand found hers, fingers parting, meshing. "I wish   
I could tell you I'm not afraid anymore, but that would be a lie.   
Truth is, I'm terrified." He huffed softly. "But back in the parking   
garage, when Jake had the knife at my throat..." His fingers   
tightened in crushing grip. "I could have died, and you never   
would have known."

Kristen curled her fingers around the nape of his neck, bringing his   
face so close he could feel her breath feather across his lips. "I   
knew. You've told me in just about every way possible except   
saying the words. And I've tried to convince myself it didn't   
matter. But, oh God, Grey..." Her voice wavered, catching in a   
tear-clogged throat. "...it matters."

He kissed her, tenderness quickly giving way to passion, lips   
parting and tongues caressing. His hand had found the warm skin   
of her stomach and her teeth were fastened on his earlobe when   
someone cleared their throat. Loudly.

It might as well have been a bucket of ice water. They broke apart,   
Grey cursing lustily when his injured arm inadvertently hit the   
bedrail. Kristen slid off the mattress and tugged down her sweater,   
cheeks pink.

Cleo lounged in the doorway, white teeth flashing in a satisfied   
smirk. "Well, now. I see you got your own painkiller. Looks like   
you're feelin' much better."

Grey willed himself not to lick his tingling lips, wondering why he   
suddenly felt like a sixteen year old caught making out in his   
parents' living room. "Ah, Cleo, this is Kristen. Kristen, meet Cleo.   
She's been taking care of me."

"Not nearly as well as Kristen has," Cleo replied, voice like honey. 

If possible, Kristen's flush deepened. "Nice to meet you, Cleo."

"Likewise. Now how about you sign these papers...," she laid a   
clipboard and pen in Grey's lap, "...and you can finally get out of   
here." She cast a sly glance at Kristen. "I can see you're in good   
hands."

Grey opened his mouth, shut it, and signed. He passed the forms   
back to Cleo, who handed Kristen a plastic bag and a few slips of   
paper. 

"There's prescriptions for an antibiotic and pain meds. I've given   
you some sample packets to get you started, but I'd suggest you get   
'em filled ASAP. Be sure you take the antibiotic with food, and   
finish the entire prescription--I don't want to see you back in here   
with an infection. If there's any sign of fever or inflammation, you   
need to see a doctor immediately. Otherwise, there's a sheet of   
instructions about the stitches. Follow them."

Grey nodded. "I will."

"You can keep those scrubs you're wearing; the Feds bagged your   
clothes as evidence."

Grey winced, eyes distant. "After the last few days, that's no great   
loss." He forcibly shook off his darkened mood. "Thanks for   
everything, Cleo. You've been terrific."

"Yeah, yeah. So they all tell me." But the words were delivered   
with the ghost of a smile. "Take care now, children." A pause and a   
wicked grin. "Behave yourselves." A sly wink, and she was gone.

Kristen shook her head, still blushing. "Come on. Let's get you out   
of here."

Grey swung his legs over the side of the gurney, but made no move   
to stand. "Kristen, I want...I need to see Fox."

She paused in the act of collecting his shoes, hands propped on   
hips. "Then we'd better fill these prescriptions on the way out."   
When his jaw dropped in surprise, she smiled. "Did you honestly   
think I wouldn't see that coming? Now let me find the other one of   
these and I'll help you put them on--I think your shoe tying days   
are over for a while. Oh, and Grey?"

She stopped, turned back to look intently into his eyes. "I love you,   
too."

She left him with a goofy grin on his face and went to find the   
other shoe.

 

Asheville Memorial Hospital  
Tuesday  
11:49 a.m.

 

Grey paused outside the room, head cocked. Silence. He peeked   
inside, quietly wrapping his knuckles on the half-opened door.   
Dana startled, a light blanket falling from her shoulders as she sat   
up straight in the recliner. Her momentary confusion melted into a   
smile when she saw him hovering in the doorway. Motioning him   
inside, her sharp eyes cataloged the sling and his stiff gait.

"I didn't expect you so soon; you should be resting," she said sotto   
voce, then added grudgingly, "You look better."

"Darlin', I saw how I looked before, and the only direction was up.   
But if it makes you feel any better--I stopped by the house to clean   
up a bit, and I slept most of the way here. Kristen drove."

Scully peered over his shoulder. "Where is she?"

"In the waiting room, curled up on a comfortable couch--or what   
passes for one in this place. After all the driving she could barely   
keep her eyes open." He crossed to the bed where Mulder slept on,   
oblivious, and laid his hand on his brother's forehead. "Fever's   
gone," he murmured, more to himself than to Scully, then turned to   
search her face. "How is he?"

She stood, stretching her arms over her head, then gathered up the   
blanket and folded it into a neat square. "His condition is much   
improved, actually. The surgery went well and the infection seems   
to be under control. They moved him down from the ICU right   
after I got here this morning."

The line between Grey's brows betrayed his doubt. "I can tell he's a   
lot better than the last time I saw him. It's just... Fox is the guy with   
hair-trigger reflexes. How can he still be sleeping through all this?"

Scully returned to the recliner, motioning for Grey to pull up a   
chair. After a lingering look at his brother's pale face, he   
reluctantly complied.

"He was awake when I arrived at 5:30 this morning, Grey. From   
what Kristen and the nurses tell me, he stayed awake all night,   
refusing to sleep or accept pain medication until he could be   
absolutely certain you and I were all right. That refusal, while   
perhaps noble and stoic, made his transfer down from the ICU a   
very unpleasant experience. By the time we got him settled in this   
bed, he was exhausted and in agony, barely coherent. The nurse   
gave him a hefty shot of morphine and he's been out ever since."

"How could he be so stupid?"

Scully arched her eyebrows. "How indeed."

Grey flushed. "That's different. My injury wasn't life threatening.   
All I needed was a few stitches."

"THIRTY stitches. And a unit of blood."

"Yeah, well... I had to see Fox, and I couldn't very well do that   
from a hospital bed."

"Grey, it's wonderful that you love your brother and that you want   
to help take care of him. But you need to take care of yourself, too.   
I'm here, and you know I'm not going to let anything..."

"You don't understand. I HAD to come. I owe him that much,   
after... He needs to see that I'm still here for him." 

Scully had been massaging the back of her neck but her head   
snapped up at his words. Grey evaded her attempts to look into his   
eyes.

"Grey, you're not blaming yourself for any of this--are you?"

Grey stared out the window, jaw clenched. "I dragged him up there   
on that stupid camping trip; he never really wanted to go. Jake hurt   
him, nearly killed him, because of me. And as if that wasn't   
enough, when he was sick and scared and at his most vulnerable, I   
left him. I promised I wouldn't, and then I did." He swallowed, at   
last turning to meet her eyes. "You tell me, Dana. Who else would   
I blame?"

Scully closed her eyes and expelled a long, slow breath, shaking   
her head. "You two are incredible. I'm actually starting to believe   
there's a gene that controls guilt."

"Hold on a minute..."

"No, you hold on. Your brother"--she jerked a thumb in Mulder's   
direction--"has been beating himself up because he didn't tell us   
about Jake sooner. According to him, you were injured--and could   
have been killed--because he dropped the ball. Are you sensing a   
pattern here, Grey?"

Grey's jaw dropped and he struggled for words, frowning. "That's   
crazy! He couldn't help..."

"Look, before we become immersed in this game of 'What's My   
Crime,' how about we all just lay the blame where it really   
belongs--on Jake Preston. He's the killer, Grey. He's the one who   
shot Mulder, kidnapped you, and tried to cut you to ribbons. If you   
and Mulder would just set aside your overdeveloped sense of guilt   
and look at things objectively, maybe you'd both see the truth."

"She's hot when she's angry...isn't she?"

The soft, raspy voice redirected their attention to the bed, where a   
pair of sleepy hazel eyes regarded them with amusement.

"Hey." Grey popped to his feet and moved to the bed, clasping his   
brother's hand. "It's about time you woke up. You're reputation as   
an insomniac is on shaky ground."

Mulder licked his lips; grimaced. "Why do the good drugs...make   
your mouth taste like cardboard?"

Grey reached for the cup, only to stare helplessly at the water   
pitcher.

"I've got it." Scully liberated the styrofoam from Grey's grasp and   
filled the cup with water. 

Mulder drank eagerly, eyeing Grey's arm over the rim of the cup.   
He drained the liquid, waving off Scully's offer of more and   
tipping his chin toward the sling.

"That looks painful."

"It's not exactly a slug in the leg."

Scully rolled her eyes and set aside the pitcher. "I think I'll duck   
out for a cup of coffee. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves." She'd   
slipped out the door before either could formulate a reply.

Mulder let his head drop back onto the pillows, lips curved. "You   
know, I really hate to admit this, but Scully is right."

"That's easy to say from your perspective. Maybe you wouldn't   
feel the same if someone with a grudge against you hurt me," Grey   
pointed out, bitterness turning his relaxed drawl tight and harsh.

Mulder's fingers clamped onto his sleeve. "How can you say that?   
Grey, you were kidnapped because they mistook you for me. I   
know what you're feeling."

"You didn't leave me. You ignored your own health, nearly killed   
yourself, to find me and bring me home."

"If not for me, you never would have been taken, experimented on,   
in the first place."

Grey studied his face, then looked away, teeth gnawing viciously   
at his lip. "I didn't want to leave you, Fox. You have to believe   
that. It was the only way to give you a fighting chance."

"I know that. Hey." Mulder waited for his brother to look at him.   
"I'm sorry for what I said to you. I was half out of my head with   
pain and fever, Grey. I don't blame you for going with Jake. You   
had no choice."

Tears flooded Grey's eyes, and his voice dropped to a whisper.   
"I'm so sorry I brought you into that mess, Fox. I wish to God I'd   
never suggested that damn camping trip."

"Well at least one good thing came out of it. There's no way   
Crittendon can draft me into profiling for him now." When the   
attempt at humor fell flat, Mulder sighed. "Look, I'm never going   
to be Daniel Boone, but it really wasn't that bad until Jake showed   
up--well, except for the outhouse, maybe. You were right, it's   
beautiful up there. I don't have anything against communing with   
nature, it's just...maybe next time we could do our communing on a   
tropical beach."

Grey's lips quivered and he let out a short bark of laughter. I don't   
know, little brother. With your luck, there'd be a hurricane." He   
scrubbed at his face, fingers rasping over stubble and tears.

"How's Mark?"

"Still in shock, I think. And dealing with his own feelings of guilt."

"Understandable, I suppose. But none of us can assume blame for   
the actions of a family member." He chuffed quietly. "I may have   
an overdeveloped sense of guilt, but at least I've come to terms   
with that."

"A fact for which we are all grateful." Scully walked to opposite   
side of the bed, a cup of coffee in one hand.

Mulder eyed it, licking his lips. "I don't suppose..."

"Absolutely not. And you'll notice I didn't bring any for you,   
either," she said to Grey. "You and Kristen both need some sleep.   
I'm told there's a hotel just down the street--a nice one, not the type   
Mulder usually picks."

Grey touched two fingers to his brow. "Yes, ma'am."

Mulder pressed a hand to his chest. "Scully, I'm hurt."

"The truth often has that effect, Mulder."

Mulder sustained his wounded expression for a moment longer,   
then turned to Grey. "Scully says Kristen was partially responsible   
for them coming after us so soon. She was convinced you were in   
trouble. I'd say we both owe her our thanks."

Grey smiled. "I owe her a lot more than that."

Mulder exchanged a long look with Scully. "You sound like you've   
had some kind of epiphany," he said to Grey.

His brother chuckled. "I'm not sure I'd go that far." He sobered.   
"It's not like I figured out something new or unexpected. More like   
I finally acknowledged something I've known for quite a while."

Mulder's voice was soft, unassuming. "Did you happen to share   
that with Kristen?"

"Yeah. Scared the hell out of me, but...yeah, I did." Grey turned a   
shrewd stare at Mulder. "We had a deal, little brother.   
Remember?"

Mulder looked at him blankly for a moment, then remembered   
their conversation on the way up to the cabin. His eyes darted to   
Scully and a slight flush rose in his cheeks. "I remember."

Scully arched an eyebrow but her words were as gentle as the   
fingers she slipped between his. "Something you want to share   
with me, Mulder?"

He looked at Grey, who gave a slight nod, then back to Scully.   
"Not here, Scully. But...yes. I guess I do."

She studied his expression, determination and apprehension, and   
squeezed his hand. "You know where to find me."

One corner of Mulder's mouth turned up in a weak smile that   
abruptly became a yawn. Grey slid off the mattress, wincing a little   
as he stretched the kinks from his legs.

"I think that's my signal to find Kristen and the hotel."

"Take Scully with you. You need a bed, not that chair," he said   
firmly.

"I've got our rental downstairs. I'll go as soon as you're asleep. I   
promise." 

"I'll be back later, when we've all had a nap." Grey stopped near   
the doorway. "If you're a good little patient, maybe I'll even   
smuggle in some real food."

Mulder perked up considerably. "Thai?"

"Mulder!" Scully's voice held equal parts horror and amusement.   
"Soup," she told Grey.

"Sculleeee. I'm much better. How about Chinese?"

"You two complete negotiations. I'll check in with Dana before I   
come." Grey took a step, hesitated, his face suddenly open and   
vulnerable. "Fox, I..."

"Yeah." He smiled. "Me, too. Now go get some sleep."

Mulder waited until his brother had disappeared down the hallway   
before sliding lower in the bed, right hand moving restlessly across   
the mattress, his face tense and still.

Observing the searching fingers and perspiration-beaded forehead,   
Scully retrieved the button for the PCA pump and placed it into his   
hand. "Pain bad?"

"Only when I breathe."

"You should have said something, Mulder. You've been able to   
administer another dose for at least a half an hour." Concern more   
than anger clouded her tone.

Mulder pressed the button with an audible sigh. "Not while Grey   
was here. Scully, he's feeling enough guilt over me getting hurt;   
I'm not going to rub his nose in it."

She stroked the hair back from his forehead, watching tension   
leave his face and body as the drug took effect. Mulder sighed,   
eyes shutting, then slowly opening to half-mast.

"'S it for me, babe. No more sparkling conversation."

"I'll just have to turn on Jerry Springer back at the hotel."

Eyes closed again, he was too far gone to laugh, but his lips   
curved. "Ya watch Jerry? Marry me, Scully."

She touched her lips to his forehead, then his mouth, nuzzling his   
cheek. "Too late, love. I already did."

Tucking the blanket up around his shoulders, she sank back into   
the recliner. A promise was a promise, and she fully intended to   
head out to the hotel for some real sleep. But for now--just for a   
little while--she'd indulge herself. Seeing the soft, untroubled   
expression on his face. Hearing the gentle rhythm of his breath. 

Alive.


End file.
